#wedding return gift idea

[fourthofgemini]

What I love about the wedding of P’Aon and P’Pla is that they accept a book as the wedding gift and they return suitable books to the guests respectively as wedding favours.

[hulking-godless-child-beast]

Someday I want to propose to someone / be proposed to with the "box inside of a box inside of a box inside of a box etc" gag.

Think about it: the suspicion, "haha wouldn't it be funny if the smallest box had a ring in it" growing into mounding tension as the boxes get smaller, and smaller, and eventually what else could fit in this one besides a ring box?

you could even make an Emperor's New Groove reference by putting a tiny little flea figurine inside the ring box and a hammer nearby, then go "sike" and pull the ring out of your pocket

[corporategiftsonline]

Personalized Ideas for Wedding | Return Gifts for Guests | Corporate Gif...

[gojorgeous]

"creature of myth."

pairing: vampire!gojo x fem!human!reader summary: when you receive an offer of marriage from a mysterious wealthy lord, it’s too good a deal for your family to turn down. but nothing could be so perfect... right? content: MDNI (18+  ONLY), dark content, nsfw, gets dubcon/noncon in some spots, yandere behavior from gojo, implied death/k*lling of a character (not reader or gojo), arranged marriage, victorian au, plot that ends with porn lmao, spooky dooky vibes, blood, blood sucking/eating, praise, biting, unprotected sex, creampie, virgin!reader, discussion of virginity, cherry popping, pain, pet names (princess/love), reader is highkey clueless about sex, discussion of masturbation, ideas of masturbation as “sinful”, very minor religious themes, fated “mates”, gojo is highkey insane, coercion and manipulation, like SO much neck kissing, ooc gojo??? (had to alter his character to match a victorian vampire lord LMAO). a/n: PLEASE READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS. THERE IS DARK CONTENT AHEAD. is this a gojo fic or a twilight fic?? Going back to my roots fr fr. straight down to the “SAY IT, SAY IT”. this fic is also way too long my apologies bbs. i hope you like a hefty side of plot with your porn. parts of this fic feel way too cheesy to me but sometimes i eat that up, yk?? this fic was inspired by this amazing work by @rice5x ! and, finally, thank you all for the support on my most recent fics. i'm just getting back into being active on this blog and it's been amazing reading each and every comment/reblog/ask. they genuinely fill me with so much joy. keep them coming hehe. anyway, i hope you enjoy and remember, ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED. credits: dividers by @cafekitsune. banner art by @ndsoda on twitter. wc: 11.6k (sowwy)

You remember perfectly the way your mother’s jaw dropped when Satoru Gojo proposed to you. You’d never seen the man, and you still hadn’t. He’d asked to marry you via messenger, a simple letter delivered by hand with a list of all the things he’d be willing to pay for your hand. Offers of money, land, protection, connection- anything so long as he got you. You’d thought it was a joke. Your father nearly took a shovel to the head of the poor messenger, thinking the letter was some kind of cruel prank, some sort of targeted disrespect. You’d only started to believe when you really looked- saw the Gojo crest embroidered on the man’s suit, the fine leather of his boots. If it was a prank, somebody had spent a great deal of money and effort to pull it off. 

You’d asked for proof nonetheless, and you’d gotten it. Documents signed and sealed with a well-known waxen crest, gifts that could only have been purchased by a wealthy lord. The one thing you never got was the lord himself. He refused to see you, to come down from his mysterious castle on the hill. It didn’t surprise you. He rarely deemed town worthy of his presence. He had a reputation as a recluse, as a man who only ever liked to see and never be seen. What little glimpses people got of him were usually through the dark window of his carriage. Still, his appearance preceded him. White hair, light eyes… “haunting” said those who had the luck to see him. Those who went to work for the lord tended to return… changed— if they returned at all. 

You accepted, of course. How could you not? You were a peasant family with no status or wealth to your name. The promises Lord Gojo had made would make your parents into aristocrats all on their own. But that left you wondering… why did he want you? You offered him no benefit. If anything, you sullied his bloodline. The question scratched at the back of your mind. It came to you while you ate breakfast, while you washed your clothes, while you weeded in the garden. Some part of you told you that you needed the answer before you ever stepped foot in that castle. You needed that answer, but you’d never get it. 

Your wedding wasn’t even a wedding- just a piece of paper that had already been signed and witnessed, once again delivered by a familiar messenger. You signed at your dining room table and… that was that. You were married. 

Later that night the carriages arrive. Men flood your home, all dressed in blue velvet, the Gojo crest embroidered on their chests. They seem puzzled when you tell them you’ve packed all your belongings into a measly three bags. 

You say a quick goodbye to your parents, drawing them into stiff embraces. You love them, and they love you, but you can’t bear to see their faces as they send you away to a man who couldn’t even show his face for your wedding. 

The carriage ride is somehow longer than you’d thought it would be- apparently, the castle’s size makes it seem deceptively close. The trip is rocky and twisty and altogether unpleasant as you steadily make your way toward the castle gates. By the time you reach them you think you’ve probably dozed in and out of consciousness at least half a dozen times. 

The castle is even more intimidating up close. Spires that swirl into the clouds, sculptures that stare, doors that look more suited to being locked than opened. It’s… terrifying. 

When you finally roll to a stop, you move for the door. When you swing it open you get your fair share of strange looks from your attendants and remember that you should have waited for the footman. Your face heats as you climb out anyway, unwilling to subject yourself to the further humiliation of waiting for assistance. 

Your feet hit gravel and all you can do is stare- up, up, up, to where the castle’s peaks disappear into the fog. When your eye flashes to a window on the east side of the manor you think you see a swaying curtain. You tuck your arms around yourself and shiver, but it’s not from the cold. 

You nearly stumble over your feet on your first step inside. The entrance hall is larger than your former house, with ceilings that stretch so high you can hardly make out the figures on the frescoes that adorn it. Silver and blue drape everywhere, the Gojo family colors. You swallow when you see a chair that is most definitely worth more than your family’s annual income. 

The floors are marble and when your worn heels clack against it, you only feel reminded that you don’t belong here. That question pricks in your mind again as you pass portraits of every Gojo heir to have lived in the last three hundred years. Why me? Why me? Why me? 

Your footman deposits you in your room, a place more lavish than you’ve ever seen. You have a four poster bed with a canopy of blue velvet, a window that overlooks a sprawling estate, and more square footage than you’ve ever dreamed of. 

“Pull this if you need any sort of assistance, ma’am.” 

You turn to see your footman referencing a silver cord at your bedside. You assume it’s one of those contraptions that rings a bell in the servants’ quarters. You try to hide your amazement- you’ve never seen one in real life before. 

You clear your throat and give your most ladylike nod. “Thank you, um-” you pause, your brow furrowing. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I asked your name.” 

Your footman appears stunned to silence, like he’d never expected you to care about his existence, much less his name. He recovers quickly, though, and forces a small smile. “Thomas, ma’am.”

You smile and it’s genuine. “Thank you, Thomas.”He bows and makes a beeline for the door, but you have one more question. “Oh, um, Thomas-” He freezes, turning slowly on his heel to face you. 

“Yes, my lady?” 

You cringe at the title. The sound of it creeps across your skin, foreign and… wrong. Why me? Why me? Why me?

You clear your throat again. “Do you know, um, well-” You shift, trying to word your question properly. “Do you know when I might see the Lord?” 

There is a pause, a moment of tension and silence, and then an answer. “No, my lady.”

Thomas does not stick around for more questioning. The door clicks shut behind him and then you're left with only the sound of retreating footsteps. 

You’re stunned to say the least, mouth still halfway open, more questions on the tip of your tongue. Should you seek him out? Was that proper? Would he come to you? Would he meet you for dinner, perhaps? Surely he would come to your room tonight to… consummate. Would that be the first time you lay eyes on him? When he’s over you? 

You sigh. There’s nothing much to be done about it now. You find your way to the bed and sit down hesitantly. It feels like a crime to rumple such primped and polished cotton. You do it anyway- it’s going to happen sometime, right? You fall back against the mattress and don’t fail to notice how utterly comfortable it is. The silvery patterns on your canopy swirl and bend together. You’re tired. You didn’t sleep much last night, anxious for the morning… and it’s only mid-afternoon now. You had time for a nap, right? Your eyes are closing before you can convince yourself it’s a bad idea and then you’re swept away into a world of warm darkness. 

You wake with a start. Your first thought is that it’s dark now. Your room is pitch black except for the stream of moonlight passing through your stupidly large window. Your mouth feels dry and your skin is cold, like you’ve just woken from a nightmare. If you have, you don’t remember it. Perhaps that’s a blessing. 

You sit up, combing a finger through your hair and laughing pitifully when you realize that you left your shoes on as you slept. You hope Thomas didn’t walk in to find you in yet another unladylike position. A glance at the foot of the bed reveals he might have. Your bags have arrived- all three of them. You eye them with a combination of longing and contempt. They don't match this place. They’re worn and used- everything here is shiny and new. Still, they’re all you have, and all you have left of your life before. All you have left of home. 

You stretch your arms above your head, nearly groaning at the burn in your muscles. The carriage ride did your body no favors and you suspect you’ll be sore for many days to come. 

You rise, no longer content to lie in bed. You’ve had your rest and, from the state of darkness outside, you suspect your new husband might be joining you soon. The thought twists a certain tightness into your gut, but you push it aside. If that was the price you paid for all he gave your family… then you’d pay it gladly. 

You start with candles, finding a box of matches at your bedside. You light every candelabra you can find. The room, the castle, seems so perpetually… black- like it soaks up every ray of light it touches. Even when you’ve finished it doesn’t feel like enough. You make a note to ask Thomas for more in the morning. 

You find a meal, carefully prepared and preserved, on a table near your dresser. Judging by the fact that it’s still warm, you conclude that it can’t be much past mid-evening. You originally intend to pick at the food as you unpack, but one bite has your mouth watering. It is the most delicious thing to ever touch your lips, complete with dessert waiting on the side. You clean your plate before moving onto your bags. 

You lay your clothes out on the bed. A few dresses, riding pants, undergarments, an assortment of ribbons and bows. At one time these items had been the finest things you owned- now you owned a castle. 

You find an armoire that looks like a master sculptor carved its edges and grab a dress, intending to hang it. Instead, your dress hits the floor when you part the doors to find the hangers already full. Your lips part. Luxury dresses of silk and satin line the rack, fading into some that appear more casual outfits of cotton and linen. You stretch a hand out, curious and utterly… amazed. To think your new husband had gone to all the effort… Your hand brushes purple silk and- 

“Do you like them?” 

You screech, jumping to face the voice at your back. It takes a moment for your eyes to find him, leaning casually against one post of your bed. Your breath is stolen for a second time. Snow white hair, piercingly blue eyes, pale soft skin… you know who he is even without looking at his dress, at the air of authority he claims. He’s your husband… and he is the most devastatingly beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. 

He laughs, then, and it’s a warmer sound than you’d thought it would be- rich and full. A sound that seeps into your bones and settles in your soul. 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, but the twinkle in his eyes makes you think that perhaps that’s a lie. 

Your heart pounds and your eyes flash to the door. It’s shut. You didn’t hear it open, nor did you hear it close behind him. You also didn’t hear footsteps, didn’t hear breaths, didn’t hear him. 

He follows your gaze and laughs again, though it sounds a bit… strained? 

“I have a habit of being unintentionally lightfooted. I apologize.” 

Your heart is still pounding but you find it in yourself to have some decorum. You snap your jaw shut and bow your head slightly in respect. “You must be Lord Gojo. Forgive me for my insolence.” 

There’s a beat, and then footsteps– ones you actually hear this time. You clench your jaw when he stops before you and then nearly gasp when he takes your hand and brings it to his lips. 

“Satoru, please,” he winks and you think you might stop breathing. “I am your husband after all.” 

You force yourself to nod, to swallow, to act normal. But how can you in the presence of a man that looks like… that? There’s something too unreal about him, too perfect. It’s almost… unsettling. 

“Of course… Satoru.” 

He straightens and shows you a close-lipped smile that digs a dimple into his left cheek. You have to look away to avoid stumbling over your own feet. 

“So, do you like them?” Your brows furrow- “The dresses,” he clarifies. 

“O-oh.” Your features relax into an easy smile. You turn back to your armoire, running a hand along another gown. You don’t think you’ve ever touched something so… finely made. “I like them very much. I don’t know how to thank you.” 

There’s a little chuckle as you turn to face him again and you have to steel yourself before you meet his eyes. He’s mesmerizing, too mesmerizing. You think you could probably lose yourself in those eyes forever… 

“No need to thank me. If they don’t fit, we’ll call for the seamstress in the morning.” 

You nod softly, still lost to the situation. There’s a beat of silence in which your husband does nothing but… look at you. His eyes roam freely and the hair on your arms stands under his gaze. He traces the lines of your nose and jaw and lingers on your pulse. Can he see just how fast your heart is pounding?

“Did you… get dinner?” It’s a stupid question, you know, but you don’t think you can bear another second of that look he’s giving you. “I fell asleep and found a plate. I hope I didn’t prevent a proper meal…” You trail off. Perhaps you shouldn’t have pointed out your own shortcoming? 

He gives you another smile and you swear he inches just a little closer. “You did no such thing. I’m… perfectly satisfied.” 

You nod, glad that he doesn’t seem upset at the very least. Your lips press together, unsure of what to do or say. You’ve never had a husband before. Wasn’t he supposed to just sort of… put you on the bed and… do it?

Your eyes flit to said bed and your husband must see because he hurries to continue. 

“Well, I’ll see you in the morning then, hm?” His eyes flit to your armoire and back again. “Wear the blue dress with the lace to breakfast, yeah? Been dying to see it on you.” He chuckles like he’s just told some sort of amusing joke.

Your brows furrow. That was… not the topic you’d been expecting. “You’re not…” You feel your cheeks heat and tighten your jaw. “Not staying the night?” 

His lashes lower a fraction and those eyes pierce you again. You don’t think you could move even if you wanted to, even with him prowling closer, each step eating up the space between you. He doesn’t stop until you’re nose to nose and you can feel his breath fanning over your cheeks. It’s cold somehow, chilling, and you shiver. He smirks. 

“Not tonight.” 

His head dips and for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you, but then he’s bypassing your mouth altogether and- his lips connect to your pulse. His mouth is cool, just like his breath, and you shiver uncontrollably under his touch. 

His touch is just a fleeting moment, just a wrinkle in time, and then he’s gone. His footsteps are quiet brushes on the hardwood and the creak of the door even seems tamed in his presence. 

“Goodnight,” is all he says, and then he’s gone. 

You climb into your bed an hour later wondering what in the world just happened. 

~  

You do wear the blue dress to breakfast and you can only gape in the mirror when you realize that it fits perfectly. It has you second-guessing yourself. Had you sent your measurements in advance and forgotten about it? No, you’d only sent a handful of pieces of information to the Lord prior to your marriage and you remembered all of them very clearly. Everything had gone through a messenger, everything had been clear and direct– you would have remembered sending your measurements– you didn’t. So had he just… guessed? 

That seemed impossible with how everything fit you like a glove, but it was the only explanation you had. The only one that made sense. 

When you join Satoru for breakfast it’s in a sitting room as lavishly decorated as the rest of the castle, but perhaps organized to be a bit more… liveable. He has no plate in front of him, only a tin cup that hides the contents of whatever he’s drinking. You assume coffee or juice. Perhaps he’s just not a breakfast person. 

“It fits!” he says. His hands clasp together in front of him and he smiles again, dimples and all. 

You nod and fight the heat that bubbles beneath your cheeks as you take your seat. “Yes, perfectly.”

A plate is set before you and a glance up reveals it’s Thomas serving your breakfast. You smile, hoping for some acknowledgement from him, for a small piece of comfort. Instead, you get his averted gaze and quick retreat. Your brows furrow, but before you can say anything, Satoru is back to speaking. 

“I hope Thomas treated you well yesterday?” 

You glance up, but Satoru’s eyes aren’t on you, they’re on your footman. His smile is bright, but it’s anything but friendly. You fight a shiver. 

You glance at Thomas. He’s perfectly still, perfectly straight, but you think you see a muscle clench in his jaw. You clear your throat. “Y-Yes. Thomas was very helpful.” When Satoru keeps staring the boy down you add, “-and very respectful.” 

That seems to satisfy. Satoru breaks his stare and some of the tension in the air instantly eases. He shoots you another dimpled smile, this one with a little more warmth. “Perfect.” 

There’s a beat and then he’s standing, draining whatever he has in his cup and then straightening his jacket. “Well, I have some work to do. I’ll see you for dinner?” He’s grinning again, like it’s so normal for a man to abandon his bride on their wedding night and then again the morning after. All you can do is nod. He chuckles. “See you then, princess.” And then he’s gone.

~

If this is to be your life you don't know how you will survive it. You spend the day milling about. Through the gardens, through the castle, through the stables. Thomas is never far behind, but any attempt at conversation is nipped in the bud by hit shortness. It’s like he fears coming too close. He’s never closer than a couple paces except when he has to bring you something, only to retreat again as soon as possible. The other servants barely pay you any mind apart from giving you a respectful greeting and then immediately averting their eyes. There is no work to be done, no guests to be had, no parties to plan… and no Satoru. You don’t see your husband once on tour around the grounds. You ask Thomas where his office is only for him to vaguely point out a window in the east tower. You don’t see so much as a ripple in the curtains. 

Dinner comes around at the pace of a snail. When it’s finally time to get dressed a lady’s maid whose name you don’t even catch arrives to help you lace your dress. As soon as your corset is deemed tight enough she’s back out the door with a curtsy. Thomas leads you to the dining room and your eyes roam the whole way. Even after having spent the whole day exploring, there are halls and corridors that you’ve yet to step foot in. 

The dining room is just as gorgeous as the rest of the place– filled with singular items that could feed entire families for years. Somehow, you think you’ve already grown accustomed to such things, since the only thing you truly care to look at is your husband. Satoru’s already seated, but he stands when you enter, looping around the table to pull a chair out for you. 

You give him your most genuine smile, accepting a kiss to your knuckles in greeting before you settle. “How was your day?” you ask as he takes his seat again. 

He chuckles. “Perfectly fine. And how was yours, princess?” Your nose crinkles. That’s the second time he’s called you that. Something about it feels wrong. You’re still getting used to being a lady. Princess feels even worse. 

“It was… good.”

You watch a perfect white brow arch in the candlelight. “Oh? Just good?” You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker to the corner– to Thomas. 

You hurry to elaborate. “Well, I just– I can’t help but feel as if there’s not much… use for me.” Servants flood in, some carrying wine, others carrying trays that hold more food than the both of you could ever possibly consume. 

That brow arches impossibly higher. “Use?” His lips crack into that smile again, but it’s tight this time. Too tight. “You have no use. You only enjoy yourself. Surely Thomas has told you that.” 

A plate of steaming food plops in front of you. Even its heavenly smell can’t quell the sudden dread in your gut. “Of course! Of course he did.” Your stomach twists and you decide that perhaps now is not the time to press the subject. “I’ll just… I’ll try riding tomorrow.” You hate riding, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind. 

Satoru’s smile thaws into something less menacing. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy that.” 

You nod eagerly. “I’m sure I will.” 

You grab your fork, eager for a new subject. From what you can tell, dinner is roast chicken and vegetables, though it’s the luxury version as everything seems to be. The spices are intoxicating and the green beans are even arranged in a pretty little pattern that makes them look too good to eat. You do anyway. The first bite nearly makes you moan, but you chew slowly, delicately, trying not to let your upbringing show.

It’s not until several bites later that you realize you’re the only one eating. A quick glance reveals your husband has no platter, no chicken or green beans. He’s only… watching you. You clear your throat, dabbing at your lips with a napkin. 

“You’re not… eating?”

That permanent smile grows a little wider and you can’t help but feel as if there’s something… menacing about it. “Ate before I came.” 

Your brows furrow. “Oh. Were you on the road?” 

You think you see something wild flash in his eyes. “No.” 

The rest of dinner passes slowly, almost painfully. Satoru doesn’t eat a bite, doesn’t even look enticed. You wonder how that’s possible when it smells like a spice bomb went off in the dining room. 

By the time you’ve cleared your plate you’ve discussed everything from the number of horses in the stables to kinds of crops grown on the estate. It’s comforting to know a little more about your new home, but it’s not enough. 

“Is there a library?” you ask. You’re on dessert now. It’s the best chocolate cake you’ve ever had and it takes everything in you to hold back a moan each time it touches your tongue. 

“Of course.” Your husband’s eyes flicker to Thomas again and you’re honestly starting to fear for the poor footman’s life. Everytime you ask a question it’s like Satoru is angry it hasn’t already been answered. “It’s yours to use as you please.” 

You smile lightly. “Perfect. Thank you.” 

He softens a bit at that. “Is there anything specific you wanted to read about?” 

You shrug. “The estate, I suppose. I should know my home’s history, no?”

His eyes get that wild look again, that sparkle that you know speaks to nothing good. “Oh, absolutely. I have some personal favorites to recommend. I’ll leave them aside for you?” 

You swallow and give him a shallow nod. “That would be perfect. Thank you.” 

He chuckles. “My pleasure.” 

When dessert is finally over, you stand slowly. Satoru’s not far behind you, saying he’ll walk you to your room. Your heart leaps at his words. Will he stay with you tonight? 

He offers you his arm in the hall and your mouth runs dry when you feel the corded muscle beneath his jacket. By the time you reach your room, you’re thinking of tugging him in behind you. His denial to stay with you last night was not only confusing, but… off putting. Nearly offensive. Did he not like how you looked? Did he think something was wrong with you? 

You muster all the courage you possess and force your lips apart. “Will you stay with me tonight?” 

His eyes spark again and you hold your breath. He presses closer. This is it, you think. His lips hover over yours, eyes glimmering in the candlelight. And then he dips his head, his mouth pressing to your pulse. 

“Not tonight,” he whispers– and then he’s gone. 

~

You wake suddenly. It’s the middle of the night, you gather. The light streaming through the window is weak enough to only be that of the moon. 

Your heart is pounding and your skin is slick with sweat despite the chill in your bones. A nightmare, you think. It must have been a nightmare. 

As you settle back into your sheets you swear you see a ripple in the darkness. You close your eyes. If your nightmare is real, you’d rather not see it coming.

~

The library is huge. It’s sprawling and smells of paper and leather and everytime Thomas lights a candle you flinch at the idea that one misplaced spark could end thousands of years of knowledge. 

The books Satoru left you are… perfect. Just what you were looking for. They’re all comprehensive volumes of the history of the estate, many of which reference each other. You’re stunned to see that several are written by very well-known authors of both the past and the present. You knew the Gojo family’s influence reached far, but not that far. You peruse the titles. The Gojos: A History, A History of the Gojo Crest, History of the Gojo Castle, Revisiting the Gojo Family: A Comprehensive History. Altogether you have well over a few thousand pages of information– but there’s one book that doesn’t fit with the rest. It’s relatively unassuming. A black cover with some sort of gold rune etched onto its front. When you flip to the title page it reads “Creatures of Myth and Where To Find Them”. Your brows furrow. You slide it to the side– must have gotten mixed in with the others, you think.

~

You ask Thomas to bring the books to your room. He does. Very respectfully. He sets them on your bedside table and then retreats like a kicked puppy with only a polite goodbye. You sigh. His behavior has only gotten stranger in the past few days. You think the servants’ coldness must have something to do with Satoru, but you can’t figure out why. Had he ordered them to stay away? Why would he? 

You decide it’s a question for another day and dive into your books. You spend hours, days, reading every chapter, page, and word. The pure amount of information is dizzying. Apparently this specific estate had been in the hands of the Gojo family since the eighth century (with several razings and consequential rebuilds). You also learn that Satoru was not only the most wealthy lord on the continent, but the most wealthy man. Even wealthier than the king apparently, though that fact was kept fairly under wraps to protect the crown’s ego. The estimates of your husband’s net worth made your head spin.

Satoru joins you for breakfast and dinner every day. You never see him eat a morsel. It’s… unsettling to say the least. It’s always just that tin cup, filled with something you could never quite see. You develop a pattern of waking in the night, too, with the overwhelming sense that something is watching you. Sometimes you could swear you feel the bed shift as you jerk awake. Each time you simply close your eyes and try your best to slow your heart, convinced your mind is playing tricks on you. 

Your days feel a little more productive with a book in your hands, but you’ve read them all three times over by the time a fortnight has passed. You find yourself packing them up to return to Thomas when a certain black cover catches your attention. You grab it from the pile and settle back into your seat. You’ve nothing better to do, right? 

You flip back the cover, revealing a familiar title. “Creatures of Myth and Where to Find Them”. You don’t recognize the author’s name. A quick scroll through the table of contents reveals nothing particularly interesting, but you pick a random chapter on ghouls and decide to start there. 

It’s fascinating. Nothing about the style is boring and the words fly by. Your silly little myth book is a page turner. By the time you notice the light has started dying you’ve read about ghosts, fairies, werewolves, and goblins– all of which have been a delightful little read. A glance at the clock reveals you have a half hour before dinner. One more chapter, you think. Your eyes skim the title. “Vampires [Vampyr]”. 

You skim the first paragraphs until your eyes settle on a line that catches your eye. 

“Contrary to popular belief, vampires are not always crazed blood-hungry monsters. Many live among humans quite comfortably and are able to avoid detection with a little well-placed effort.” 

You purse your lips. What a… terrifying thought. You skim a little further. 

“A vampire’s key characteristic is, of course, their desire and need to drink human blood as sustenance. However, a vampire can be spotted sooner if one is able to recognize their subtler traits. Vampires often have skin lacking any sort of flush. The lack of blood in their veins results in a sickly pallor, even after the most rigorous exercise. Their skin is also noticeably cold to the touch. At best, a vampire’s body will reach room temperature. Vampires can also be noted for their preternatural beauty. They will stand out as the most attractive person in any crowd. Finally, a vampire will have fangs. If one wishes to identify a vampire, one only needs a good look at their teeth”.

A chill settles over your skin. You flip ahead a few pages. 

“Vampires are unable to consume typical human food. Should they attempt to, their bodies will immediately reject any and all foreign substances.” 

Your stomach drops. You don’t want to think about why. You skip the rest of the paragraph. 

“Vampires possess several supernatural abilities that set them apart as a human’s predator rather than their equal. Vampires are known to move unnaturally fast and are notably light footed. If a vampire does not wish to be heard, they will not be. A vampire’s strength is inhuman, well over ten times that of the average man. They also have a penchant for darkness, an ability to hide away in the shadows that cannot be explained. Oftentimes they will seem to appear from thin air.”

You skip ahead again.

“Vampires have been known to take mates. Mates usually come in the form of another vampire, but in some cases a human has been chosen. Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly. Oftentimes, vampires make these decisions with haste, with little regard for whether or not the threat was real. A vampire will do everything in their power to please their mate, but have been known to forcibly restrain their mates in situations of unrequited feelings. Above all else, vampires wish to possess their mates. Two bonded vampires will sometimes spiral into gloriously destructive fits in their endless desire to protect and possess one another. A vampire bonded to a human will show an increasingly protective nature, often isolating their mate from others.”

Your heart pounds. A bead of sweat rolls down your back. You flip the pages, desperate– desperate for a piece of information that will save you from the thoughts spilling in your mind, from the thoughts you will do anything not to believe. You reach the “Where to Find Them” subsection and nearly gasp with relief. Surely, vampires do not pose as wealthy lords of Europe? 

“Vampires can be found everywhere. They do not exist in only one country or continent, but all over the world. Odds are that you have faced at least one vampire in your life, unknowingly or not. Some vampires choose to live solitary lives, surviving in the wilderness where human society will not attempt to tame their wild nature. Others choose to live among humans, some even existing in positions of very high authority.” 

No, no, no. This can’t be happening to you. It can’t be real. You’re dreaming, you’re having one of those nightmares again. You’re going to wake up any second. 

“One tale recounts a razing of the Gojo estate in the 12th century.” 

You’re panting, hyperventilating. This isn’t happening. 

“Soldiers of the enemy force recounted a singular man, the son and heir of the then Lord Gojo, taking out a minimum of 800 men. He was described as having his family’s characteristic white hair as well as blue eyes. Eyewitness accounts depict the Gojo heir as covered in blood and killing savagely and with inhuman strength.” 

No, no, no. 

“(See next page for only existing portrait)”

Your fingers tremble but you can’t stop them. There’s no way. It’s not possible. 

You flip the page and Satoru stares back at you. 

Knock! Knock! Knock!

You nearly scream. Your door rattles angrily, but you’re not sure you can answer it, not with the knowledge flooding your mind. The knocking continues. You run your hand over your face and smooth down your hair. You feel frazzled, dirty, despite not having moved from your chair all day. Another knock prompts you to set your book aside and stand. You do your best to compose yourself, to put on a straight face. You fail instantly when you pull back the door not to reveal your faithful attendant, not Thomas, but Satoru. 

You bite back a shriek and instead force a smile. You’re suddenly very aware of the blood pounding in you veins and of the fact that he most likely knows. 

“Hello,” he says, but his voice is lower than usually, more intense. 

You force a breath into your lungs. “Hello,” you answer, but it sounds more like a squeak than a greeting. 

Something flashes in his eyes, something familiar, something that is no longer interesting but rather terrifying. “Are you alright? You seem a little… flushed.” The concern on his face feels anything but genuine. 

“I’m fine,” you answer, but even you can tell that reply too quickly, too eagerly. You rush to cover it up. “Is it time for dinner? Where’s Thomas?” 

His lip twitches and you see a muscle in his jaw flex. “Thomas has… left us.” 

No. This wasn’t happening to you. There was no way this was happening to you. 

“He… what?” There’s an unmistakable wobble in your voice that only causes Satoru’s face to fall further. 

“It’s no matter. He’s gone. Now it’s just you and me, hm?” He chuckles and the sound rattles your bones. “In fact, I was thinking I’d cut down on the number of servants we have entirely…” 

You mind races with the memory of knowledge you wish you didn’t have. “Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly.”

You nearly stumble, but lean against the doorframe just in time. Your husband had disposed of a man, all because he brought you meals and books?

“What have you been up to today, princess?” The question breaks your trance just in time for you to see your husband’s eyes flicker behind you. 

You wet your lips. “Just some reading.” You plead that he doesn’t ask anything further. He does. 

“About the estate?” he asks. 

You nod and try to swallow the lump in your throat. “Yes.”

His smile returns and this time it’s not forced. “You got my books, then?” 

You try smiling back, but you’re fairly sure it looks more like a grimace. “Yes.”

“Anything interesting?” he presses.

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. Does he know? Does he know that you know? “Yes, of course. Lots.” 

He pauses and you see the debate and then the decision in his eyes. You think it’s the first time you’ve felt true terror when he meets your gaze again. “I think we should skip dinner tonight. It seems we have so much to discuss.”

You don’t even have the wherewithal to scream when he steps into you, forcing you back until he’s shutting your door behind him. He doesn’t stop there, though. He keeps pressing, keeps pushing until your knees hit the bed and you’re falling to the mattress. He crawls right after you.

“Who knew my little wife was such a reader? All those books in such a short time… You must be simply spilling with information.” 

You retreat across the mattress, squeaking when your back hits the headboard and his arms cage your waist. You’re trapped.

His hands find your hips and you’re all too aware of how cool his touch is. Even more so when he pulls you right into his lap.

“Satoru-” your voice is pitiful, breathless, and you’re ashamed to say it’s not just from the fear in your gut. He’s never been this close before, never touched you, held you like this. “Thomas-” 

“Don’t speak his name.” His face pulls into the first scowl you’ve ever seen and the sight is enough to root you to the spot. Never have you seen anything more frightening. A creature so beautiful, so perfectly angelic, filled with an insurmountable rage. It’s wrong. “He’s gone. He’ll never bother you again.” He’s closer now, his breath skating over your skin. It’s cool and now you know the reason why. 

You shake and tremble and you know– Thomas is dead. Your husband killed him– killed him for getting too close when all he did was stay at a distance. Satoru killed him. Killed him. 

He buries himself in your neck, his voice a near whine. “Thought I could put up with it, just so you’d have someone to take care of you…” He groans. “I was so wrong, princess. Couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand the way you smelled more like him than me…” 

You feel him melt against you then, relief washing over his body in a wave. “But he’s gone. And now it’s just you and me, hm? Just you and me…” He hums, like remembering that fact is all he’s ever needed.

He’s kissing your pulse again, now, and your heart is racing faster than ever. Your fingers curl into his shoulders. You should push him away, away, away. He’s a killer, of thousands no doubt. You’ve never felt at home here, never felt like you belonged. This is why. You’re not even the same species. He’s something else, something your hands were never meant to touch. 

Your mind screams at you to do go, to shove and kick at him and leave this place behind. Go, go, go your gut says… but you don’t. You can’t. It’s too… good. The feeling of his cool lips against your skin, of what you’re sure is his tongue prodding at your pulse… it’s intoxicating. He is intoxicating. How could anyone blame you for wanting more of someone, something, so divine? 

“Have you figured it out yet, love?” Your breath hitches and he chuckles, licking a long stripe up your neck, before he settles back at your pulse. Always your pulse. “I can feel those little gears turning. Tell me, what have they discovered?” 

He knows you know. But he’s going to make you say it. You swallow and feel his grip on you tighten. “You’re…” Your breaths come faster. You can’t. Not aloud. Aloud makes it too… real. 

“Yessss?” he prods. He’s licking at you again, all the way across your throat to find your other pulse-point. 

“You’re not…” Something sharps nicks at your skin and you bite your lip to hold back a whimper. 

“Go on, princess.” You think he’s just smelling you now, just burying his face as close to you as possible and taking you in. 

You close your eyes tightly, holding back tears. “Not human,” you breathe. A piece of you breaks with the admission.

He huffs a little laugh against your skin and pulls back to look you in the eye. “That’s good,” he purrs. “But I think you can be a little more specific, no?” His lips press to your chin, then the corner of your mouth, then down to your jaw… “Tell me.” 

Your lips wobble, muscles clenching tighter with each passing moment. You don’t want to say it, don’t want to speak it into existence, but you also don’t dare to disobey him. 

“You’re a…” You shake and tremble. He draws a line up your neck with the tip of his nose.

“Mhm?” 

You open your eyes, thinking this might be the last time you see. “Vampire.” 

He chuckles and you feel his teeth press to the skin of your neck. “That’s right, princess. So smart.” 

He smiles and you suddenly realize you’ve never seen his teeth before. Everytime he smiles at you it’s close-lipped and dimpled. But this… this is the smile of a predator– all white and pointy and fitted with a set of menacingly long fangs. You sob at the sight. 

“Shhhhh,” he coos. He has your chin in his hand, forcing you to truly look at him, to see him for what he is. “I won’t hurt you, love.” You want to believe him so badly it burns, but his laugh washes away any fire and turns it to ice. “Not unless you want me to.” He wiggles a brow like it’s just a little joke, like he’s not an actual fucking vampire that had his fangs over your neck just moments ago. 

“Satoru,” you beg. You’re not sure what you’re begging for. Release maybe? But, no, that’s not right. You don’t want him to let you go, not when you finally have him close after all this time. “Why did you pick me?” 

The question slips out. You hadn’t even been thinking about it, hadn’t even noticed it scratching at the walls of your mind, but it made its way out nonetheless.

His brow creases, but not in confusion. Moreso in… thoughtfulness. “Do you think about that a lot, princess?” 

You nod and you suddenly want him closer, want him to touch you everywhere, hold you like his life depends on it. You want him, no matter how horrible it might be. 

He nods and hums, kissing the tip of your nose lightly. “Well…” he says. His thumb swipes over your lips when he leans in to whisper in your ear. “At first I wanted you for this.” His head dips to your neck again and you feel the familiar brush of his lips against your throat. “You smell…” he chuckles. “Like heaven. Which is a place I’ll never get to on my own, so I had to bring my own little slice home, no?” He laughs again, a little louder this time, genuinely amused. “Went into town one day and caught your scent on the street. At first I thought I must be walking past the bakery, but, lo and behold, there was no baker in sight.” He’s still kissing at your pulse, worshiping it. “Went crazy, princess. Didn’t think I was going to be able to contain myself when I found you. Thought it might be quite the scene.” He huffs a laugh and you shiver, somehow both terrified and intoxicated. “But then I saw you–” he groans and something clenches deep at your center. “And I knew I needed more than just your blood. Needed you.” He’s rocking into you now, and your breath catches when you feel something firm against your backside. “Went to you in that little room you slept in every night. Watched you. Couldn’t stay away. Knew I had to have you.” You feel him smile against your skin. “After a week I couldn’t take it anymore. Sent you that letter, married you. Made you mine.” He groans again. “Then I met you and you were so pretty, princess. Already knew it, but hearin’ you talk to me, look at me.” Teeth graze your pulse. “Needed you more than ever. Almost took you right on the fucking floor in here while you were lookin’ at those dresses.” You whine when his hips roll into you again. “Oh, but I knew I couldn’t. You’re so fragile, love. Had to wait, had to make you feel safe, yeah? Spent all this time forcing myself to stay away, ‘fraid of what I might too if I was in your presence too long. Had to control myself. Had to make you realize you could trust me.” He panting, like he’s so pent up he can hardly sit still. “Do you trust me, princess?” 

Your brows scrunch. Say no, say no, say no a part of you screams. Run, run, run. You can’t. “Yes,” you breathe. 

You feel him smile again, feel the pleasure of submission. “Good girl.” 

You’re on your back. It happens so fast your eyes don’t even have time to gasp. You don’t see Satoru, but you feel him. Everywhere. His hands are roaming your body softly, sliding under buttons and laces and popping them off. Your dress loosens with every passing moment until Satoru reappears above you, diving straight for your neck again. “So good, princess. Let’s get you out of this dress, yeah?” 

You nod wordlessly, entranced. He finds your mouth as he rids you of your clothes. His tongue presses in and you flail against him, unsure of what to do, of how to handle the intrusion. The kiss is heavy, too heavy, but Satoru can’t seem to stop. He devours you as he gives up on laces and buttons and simply shreds your dress down the back. You tremble when the cold air hits your skin, when his cool fingers dust your collarbone. 

“I always forget how many damn layers they make you ladies wear,” he chuckles. His hands run beneath your shift, up across your bare thigh. You gasp at the touch. No one has even been so close to you before. You feel the threads of your corset snapping away, feel your breaths growing deeper. You tremble when he pulls your sleeve down past your shoulder and runs his mouth along the newly exposed skin. 

“Satoru,” you gasp, and your hand pulls at his flowing white shirt. 

He chuckles, pulling back just enough to see your face. “You wanna see me too?” You nod, lips parted and eyes glassy, and he laughs again. He lips dust over the corner of your mouth. “Alright.” 

His hands shift from you to himself, working at the laces on his chest. His movements are speedy, practiced, like he’s been lacing and unlacing shirts for hundreds of years. Your throat tightens when you realize that he has. 

You gasp when he reveals himself, when his shirt slides away to reveal an expanse of pale skin and carved muscle. You’ve never seen a man like this and seeing one this close up for the first time is nearly blinding. He’s art, you think- nothing less. 

“Touch me, princess,” he says. You can’t. You shouldn’t. He’s too beautiful, too perfect to be beneath your insignificant hands. “Need a little help?” he asks, and there’s a lilt in his voice that makes you sure he’s grinning. 

His hands find yours and bring them to his chest, running your palms over his collarbones, his pecs, down, down, down across his abs that you can feel each and every one… You whimper, watching your own fingers grope his skin. He pulls you lower, lower, lower, and you gasp when your fingertips brush the waistband of his pants. But then he’s laughing again and he’s throwing your arms over his shoulders and pulling you closer, kissing your neck like it pained him to be parted from your pulse for so long. 

“Not so fast,” he says, like he wasn’t the one nearly stuffing your hands down his pants. His hands are on your corset again. You can feel it dangling onto you by a thread, literally. All he needs is a couple more pulls and you’ll be bare. By the look he gives you, you can tell he’s 

thinking the same thing. “You touch me, now I touch you, yeah?” There’s a tug and a tear and then so much… cold. You’ve never realized how cold this castle is, not until you’re exposed to its elements fully. You’re naked. 

Satoru sits back on his knees and just watches. His gaze is searing, burning, despite the iciness of his being. It’s too much. Your hands move to cover yourself, to maintain some modicum of your dignity- 

“No.” Strong hands find your wrists and pry them apart. “Let me see you,” he says. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. 

Your jaw clenches and your frame shakes, but you do as he asks, letting your hands fall limply at your sides. There’s silence for many more moments and it seems to go on so long that you can only squeeze your eyes shut under his gaze. Surely he will turn you away now, get up and leave, tell you this was a mistake, tell you that you’re– 

“Beautiful,” he breathes. Your eyes snap open to find him already staring at you. “Beautiful,” he says again, and then he’s on you, lips at your pulse, hands on your skin. His touch is cool and you squeak at the chill that runs up your spine. You’re not sure it’s entirely from his temperature. 

His mouth seeks yours and he devours you. You feel as if he’s sucking your soul out through your lips. “Tell me you’ve never done this before,” he begs. “Tell me I’m the first to touch you.” 

You whine against his mouth, both aching for more and overwhelmed by what he’s already giving you. “Y-You’re the first,” you whisper. 

His groan is deep, primal. It rattles through your chest and you whimper when his hands dig into your waist hard enough to bruise. “Yes,” he breathes, and you shiver again. “Lie back, princess.” Your eyes widen, with anticipation or fear you’re not sure. Probably both. He chuckles. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.” 

You pray he means that. “Just relax, love. Here, hold my hand.” His fingers find yours, twining them together. When you swallow, his eyes follow the bob of your throat. He leans back again and your body twitches when his free hand skims the skin of your thighs. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he finds your knees and you gasp when he parts your legs, revealing you so completely to his gaze. The way he stares, like he’s committing you to memory, it’s nearly enough to make you snap your thighs shut, but a squeeze from his hand reminds you to relax, to trust. 

His palm skates up your thigh and settles near your hip, his fingertips inching closer to where you can feel an embarrassing throb. 

“Tell me, love. Have you ever touched yourself here?” His fingers dust low on your tummy- just low enough for you to catch his meaning, but not low enough to give you any relief. Your face heats and your teeth dig into the flesh of your cheek. You have, you have touched yourself there, but it’s the last thing you want to admit to your new husband. It’s shameful, it’s dirty, it’s- “Don’t think I’ll judge you, princess. Just wanna know.” 

You gulp down a breath. You should come clean. “Y-yes,” you stutter, and the sound of your voice so weak and helpless only makes you flush further. 

He chuckles and squeezes your hand again. “On the outside or the inside?” 

Your eyes widen. I-inside? You’d never considered that… “J-just the outside,” you answer. 

Your eyes grow even wider when his head rolls back and he moans straight up to the ceiling like your answer is heaven-sent. When he looks back to you his fangs are on full display. “Well, I think you and I are in for a little treat today, hm?” 

Your brow furrows and your lips part to ask him what he means– his fingers travel those last few inches down your tummy and find your clit. You squeak and jolt so violently that he presses a hand to your hip, holding you to the mattress. “Somebody’s sensitive,” he chuckles. He holds you still for a moment and then lets your hips go free. “Try to stay still. I promise it’ll feel good.”

You nod hopelessly, but this time you’re prepared for when he touches you again. Your muscles clench at the first touch, at the foreign sensation of a touch down there that wasn’t your own. But then it’s more. It’s languid, slow circles around a spot that you’ve never been able to pinpoint so well on your own. It’s heat building in your tummy that seeps through every vein and into every pore. It’s relaxation that you’ve never known, that has you melting into the mattress despite the chill of the touch. 

There’s a little huff of a laugh and then his voice. “Good girl. Feels nice, yeah?” You nod hesitantly and squeeze desperately at his hand, searching for an anchor. His head cocks to the side and you watch the smile slide across his lips. “It’s about to feel even nicer.” 

By the time you realize what he’s doing it’s far too late to stop him. His mouth closes around your cunt and you yelp, trying to wiggle away from the overwhelming sensation- but he’s got his freehand on your hip again and his grip is bruising, punishing, as he holds you in place. He licks a stripe through your folds and you find yourself jolting again, uselessly so against the pressure of his palm on your hip. “Stop that, princess.” Your heart drops at the admonishment until you feel his guiding touch. “Rock into me like this.” His hand rocks your hips into his mouth and the pressure of his tongue against your clit is so delicious that you whimper. “Good girl,” he says and your heart rises right back up. “Keep doing that, now.” You don’t dare defy him. You rock like he showed you, a little jerkily at first, and then you find a rhythm that has you seeing stars. “That’s it, love,” he says, and the sound is muffled against your cunt. “Here, put your hand in my hair.” He finds your wrist and guides you forward until your fingers are tangling in those snowy locks. They’re even softer than you’d imagined. “Good girl,” he whispers and suddenly he’s taking one last long lick and lifting his head to meet your eyes. “‘M gonna put my fingers in you now, princess.” Your chin wobbles. “It might hurt a little bit, but stay still, okay?” You can’t do anything but nod. 

His eyes return to your cunt and you can feel him prodding at your entrance, circling the hole as you clench in anticipation. “Relaaaaaax, love,” he says and you nod. A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth– 

You feel the exact moment he pushes into you and a whine of pain rips from your throat. Your walls clamp down like a vice, angry at the intrusion– but it’s already too late. There’s a beat of silence, of anticipation, and then he’s– laughing? 

Your brows furrow when you hear it, your head lifting to a sight that locks your limbs in shock. Satoru’s hand is lifted in front of his face, his pointer finger coated in– blood, you realize. Your blood. And he’s a fucking vampire. 

“Oh princess,” he coos, and the manic look in his eyes makes you tremble. “You really are perfect.” 

Things seem to slow as you watch him take his blood covered finger into his mouth. You’re sure you’ve never seen an expression more blissful, more lost to sensation. His eyes roll back and his body shivers, like he’s ascending to some higher plane. Maybe he is. 

When he pulls his finger from his mouth it’s completely licked clean. You hold your breath. He’s going to go for your neck now, right? He’s had a taste and now he’ll want more of it, all of it?

“Fuck,” is all he says. His mouth is back on your cunt so fast you don’t even see him move. 

Your mouth falls wide. It hurts, the way he is so desperately licking at you. You feel his finger again, pressing in, in, in, only to pull back and suddenly be joined by another. The stretch tears at you. You thrash and jolt, but Satoru doesn’t bother telling you to stop this time. His arm wraps over your hips, holding you in place. He seems immune to how hard your legs squeeze at his head or your hands pull at his hair. He’s lost. You can feel him licking, lapping, and prodding at you like you’re a fucking gold mine. He’s lost to desperation, to the need for more, more, more. Every so often he lifts his chin and you see his mouth smudged with a mixture of your wetness and your blood. He laps at his lips like an animal, dragging his thumb across his chin and sliding it into his mouth to make sure he gets every last drop. 

You’re not quite sure when the ravenous pain turns to a ravenous pleasure, when it turns from terrifying to downright delicious. You don’t notice your moans filling the air until Satoru joins you, groaning and whining into your cunt and telling you to keep going, to keep making those sounds. The hand you have buried in his hair doesn’t fight to push him away any longer, only to pull him into those now practiced rocks of your hips. His fingers thrust deep, curling into a spot that makes you feel so good and his mouth has found your clit again. He sucks your nerves lightly between his lips, tongue swirling in little circles. Your thighs start to shake. 

“Yes. Yes. Give it to me.” 

“S-Satoru–” you breathe. Warmth and tightness pool in your tummy, and you recognize it as your approaching orgasm, though you know this one will be far different than any you’ve ever managed to give yourself. Your body shakes and your breaths tremble and then– you fall over the edge, rocking your hips senselessly, losing all form of rhythm. Warmth tingles in your spine and seeps all the way down to your toes. You think you cry out, cry for your husband, cry for more, cry for less, but if you do you don’t hear it. All you hear is the pounding of your pulse, of pleasure throbbing in your veins until the world slowly seeps back in through the corners of your vision. 

Satoru is grinning. A speck of your blood clings to his chin and his fangs peek out from behind his lips. The sight makes your blood run a little colder. If any part of you doubted what he was before… well, there was no doubt any longer. 

There’s a shift between your legs, his hips slotting between them, and you’re suddenly snapped back to reality. From the look in his eyes, you’re not done. 

Frantic hands find his pants and he undoes each button with a quickness that is almost inhuman. You wonder if he could go even faster, if he’s holding back so as not to scare you. If he is, it isn’t working very well. Fear surges in your veins right alongside anticipation. 

“S-Satoru–”

“It’s alright, love.” His hand finds yours without his eyes ever looking up. His grip is just a little too firm, a little too cold. “Just stay still.” 

You whimper, but you don’t think he’s paying attention to that, and soon enough, neither are you. His pants slide down just past his hips, just enough. You gasp. 

You’ve never seen a man in the nude, never even dared to think about what it might look like, though it seemed you no longer had to guess. His hand wrapped around his shaft, giving one long and slow stroke that made his breath hiss through his fangs. The tip was flushed, angry, and leaking something that looked clear and sticky. You couldn’t help but notice it was a lot thicker than a finger, or even two. If his fingers had hurt…

He moves with that alarming quickness again, leaning down to hover over you, chests nearly pressed together. “Gonna take you now, princess. Gonna make you mine.” His eyes bore into yours, blue and shimmering with something wild. His hand presses into the mattress beside your head. “Stay still, now.”

It’s all the warning he gives you. You feel like you’re splitting– straight up the middle. You wail, hands flying out to claw at his back. It hurts. It hurts. 

“Satoru, p-please! It’s–” 

Lips catch yours– hungry, feral. The kiss is not gentle, not soothing. It shuts you up, it keeps you quiet, it keeps you still as you feel him sinking further, deeper into you. It’s too much, you try to say, but the poke of sharp teeth against your lips keeps you silent. Your hips jolt and wiggle trying desperately to escape the stretch but it’s no use. By the time he’s fully inside you, tears are streaking down your cheeks, fat and heavy. His lips break away and his eyes reappear. You shake when you see that none of the wildness has been tamed, that you’ve only just begun.

“Good girl,” he coos, and a cool finger traces a line across your jaw. “Took me so well.” You hold back a sob when his hips shift a little, testing, prodding. He must see the pinch of your eyes, the twist of your mouth, because he’s quick to comfort. “Just hold my hand, princess.” His hips rock in earnest this time and you whimper, squeezing down on his hand with all your might. You’re panting as he chuckles. “Breathe, love. Breathe. Soon you’ll be begging for more,” he laughs. It’s not long before he’s rocking into you sincerely, setting a pace that stretches you to the brink of breaking. At first it’s all you can do to grasp onto him, to bite your lips through the whimpers and hold his hand. And then it’s… more. It’s heat and warmth despite the coolness of his body on yours. It’s sensation and… pleasure. He laughs when the first moan slides past your lips, burying his face in your neck once again. You hear him at your ear, panting his hot breath across your skin. 

“Feel good, princess?” You nod, letting your hips rock against his as he showed you before. It feels good– it feels right. He chuckles, but there’s nothing light about the sound. “Wanna feel even better?” Something sharp pokes at the skin of your neck, hard enough to make you squeak, to make you freeze at what you know he wants. 

He pulls himself back, pressing his forehead to yours, searching your eyes with his. Something like a cruel smile dances on his mouth. “Just a taste, love. I promise it won’ hurt.” His tongue darts out and licks across your lips, his thrusts rocking just a bit faster. “You’ll feel s’ good an’ I’ll only take a little.” He laughs again and it sends a chill through your bones. “Promise.” He sounds breathless, like he’s struggling to restrain himself. The increase of his pace makes you whine and you squeeze his hand again. He buries himself back in your neck, panting. “Come on, love. Say yes. Say yes f’ me.” Your eyes glaze over. Your body justles with each new thrust. He’s desperate now, seeking a release that you don’t think is any kind you’re familiar with. “Yes, yes, yes,” he chants in your ear. You’re not sure when his words twist in your mind, when they settle on your tongue and push past your lips, but you know it feels so right when they do. 

“Yes,” you whisper. 

His fangs clamp around your pulse. You scream when the sting rips through you, violent and savage– but it only lasts a moment. Pain fades to… ecstasy. You feel his throat bobbing with each swallow, feel your blood seeping from your skin and onto his tongue. You’d thought it would feel slicing, draining, like the life was being sucked from you. It doesn’t. It feels wonderful. Heat spreads under your skin, emanating from your neck and down to your toes. It feels like breathing for the first time, like sugar being pumped into your veins. It feels like heaven. Your hand tangles in his hair, holding him close. You don’t want it to stop, not ever. You could die like this, have him suck every last drop of blood from your veins and thank him for it with your dying breath. 

He’s moaning now, hands curling into your hips while he fucks into you relentlessly. The pace is grueling and brutal. You know it should hurt but only feels perfect. Anything less would not be enough. Anything else would leave you wanting. You feel it building, feel that familiar twinge at your core. The ecstasy flooding through your veins has it coming faster, has you teetering on the edge in moments. 

“Satoru…” You hadn’t noticed how dizzy you felt until you tried to speak. You wonder why… “‘M gonna…” 

He fucks you harder, something menacing and deep rumbling in his chest. The sound makes you shiver, makes you whine, makes you come. 

Your body shakes and a cry rips from your throat, cunt clenching like a vice around him. Your eyes roll back, hands scraping trails down his back. Your thighs quake with the intensity, with the overwhelming senses of pleasure that erupt throughout your body. Every nerve is firing, every hair rising. It’s an unstoppable current, one that sweeps you away, helpless to its pull. 

His thrusts grow sloppy and untimed. His grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place while he makes you his. His teeth break from your neck and when you look up through blurry eyes you see his head thrown back, your blood streaming down his chin in thick little globs. You feel it when he cums, feel the thick ropes of it seeping into your womb, feel the way he keeps fucking you, pushing it deeper and deeper inside. He’s moaning, chanting your name like a prayer at the heavens. 

When the moment ends he slumps over you, eyes half lidded and tired. There’s a familiar grin on his lips, one that inspires both comfort and uneasiness in your gut. You can’t help but stare at him, at the blood that stains his chin and cheeks, that reddens his lips so beautifully. You want to reach out and touch him, touch his blood-soaked skin and see what it feels like, what it tastes like. What you taste like. 

His eyes slide to the side, finding your pulse again. You groan. Yes, you think. Please, yes. More. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of that. Of his teeth in your flesh, of the euphoria flooding your veins. More, more, more, your mind chants. 

He chuckles lightly and shakes his head. “No, princess.” He raises a finger to trace the curve of your neck. “I took more than I should have…” His expression doesn’t tense with worry. His cheeks pull into a smile, those little dimples shining through. “But what can I say? You just taste so good.” Like he needs to emphasize his point, his tongue darts out to trace his lips, lapping up some of the remaining blood on his chin. “You taste like mine.”

You whine. More, more, more. It’s all you can think about. You lift an arm weakly. You want to pull him to your neck, to make him drink, to make him fill you with the heaven you had just moments ago. 

He catches your wrist and brings it to his lips, inhaling deeply. His lips split into another grin and you see his eyes spark again with the wildness you crave. 

“Not yet, princess.” he coos. “But soon.” His smile grows even wider, until those fangs are on full display, until you’re trembling again. “Forever,” he whispers.

taglist (dm me or send an ask to be added!): @lacheri, @la-undercover-latina, @keiva1000

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[nappingmoon]

modern au where your husband nanami is a literature professor and he sits you on his lap while he reads essays and prepares lecture material. he gets so used to the weight of you on his thigh, the warmth of your body against his, that eventually, he finds that he cannot focus without you there.

nanami is a little sheepish when he enters the living room, hemming a little bit in a way that’s very uncharacteristic of your lover. your eyes stray from the show playing on the television, now curiously tracking his small movements. you pause the contents on the tv before greeting him. “hi baby, you okay? how’s grading going?”

nanami’s hand reaches up to adjust his glasses before he releases a little sigh. “not well, my love.” his voice is quiet, the deep timber a comforting sound. he walks into the kitchen as he continues, “I’ve been working on reading these papers, but I find my mind straying far too much.” he finishes his sentence while pouring water into the kettle, placing it then on the stove.

“is that so?” you ask, leaning over the arm of the chair, enjoying, as always, the sight of your lover doing mundane tasks— the domesticity of it never ceasing to affect you, even after years of marriage. “where’s your mind been going?” despite the question, you have an idea and the smile on your face betrays it.

nanami hesitates as retrieves two cups from the cupboard; the beautiful, delicate china a wedding gift that has become the staple for holding your evening teas. “you, darling. though it is becoming apparent that you already knew that, tease.” he grumps at the end without malice.

“I assumed, but I always love to hear it.” you giggle in return. “want me to come keep you company?”

he’s nearly done pouring your teas, steeping the loose leaves in your favorite tea holders. “yes, please. if you’d like, you can watch your show in the room. I just prefer you do it next to me.”

“that’s alright, I was getting bored of it anyways. plus, i’d rather watch that quirk in your eyebrow when you find that your student has used ‘perchance’ incorrectly again.”

“minx.” he chides. “keep making fun of me and i’ll forget to put in your sugar.”

“I yield! I yield,” you laugh, raising your hands high in defeat. “it’s far too bitter without the sugar, I don’t know how you make do.”

the small spoon clinks as he finishes stirring in your honey and sugar, and he lays it down in the sink before picking up the cups, each sitting in their own decorated porcelain plates. you rise from the couch, quickly pressing the ‘off’ button on the remote before padding over to your husband.

you gently nudge your way under his arm, wary of the tea he’s carrying, and nuzzle yourself into him. you walk in tandem to your room approaching the warm glow of his desk lamp. “I don’t need any more sugar; you’re enough for me, sweetness.”

a/n: you can’t just say perchance

[pujacelebration]

Ashtalakshmi Chombhu Kalasam | Puja Celebrations

[highvern]

Whatever You Like

Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x f!reader

Genre: smut, fluff

warnings: sex tape, oral sex, dacryphilia, spitting, anal play, facial, praise kink, manhandling, unprotected sex/creampie, dom/brat dynamics (sir kink), sex toys, double penetration, spanking/clit slapping, dad cheol

Length: ~ 6.1k

Note: any complaints can be directed to @bitchlessdino for thinking cheol would be the type to film an amateur sex tape. ceremonial mention of @gyuswhore for beta reading and encouraging this tom foolery. also @wooahaeproductions and @millennial-fangirl t agging @wonustars @ugh-yoongi and @the-boy-meets-evil for more fun

summary: Your husband takes his birthday more seriously than anyone you know. When he's scheduled for a business trip across the country, forcing you two to celebrate apart for the first time in your entire relationship, you decide to get creative with his gifts this year. Can be read as a stand alone or a continuation of Freak Like Me!

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

“I hate it,” your husband announces before collapsing on top of you.

Seungcheol is always pouting about something. He’s dramatic by nature, a classic whiner. He does it for attention. Your attention. 

 It is a business trip out of the country for two weeks. He hates it because his birthday is in the middle of it. 

Since the dawn of your relationship, birthdays are spent naked in bed for hours followed by fancy dinners and gifts (despite your objection he’s all you need) and more domestic love making that left both of you sore for days. 

This will be the first birthday in eight years you’ll spend apart. And with how serious Seungcheol takes his birthday, it’s more devastating than the six months you spent long distance after college.

“I know, baby,” you coo. “We can celebrate when you get home though. Go to that steakhouse downtown you like.”

“But I want to spend it with you. I always spend it with you.” He shivers as you rake a hand through his hair, nails scratching just right to make him weak.

“One birthday isn’t gonna kill you. Promise.”

“You don’t know that. People die of broken hearts all the time.”

“Oh my god,” you snort. “I’m not leaving you, you’re going away for two weeks. On a promotion trip you begged for.”

“What if I became a trophy husband?”

“You’re too bougie for that. We’d end up homeless.”

All of his complaints prove he’s unaware of your scheming. The second he shared the news, you set to work.

The guest list for a surprise barbecue two days before he flies out is confirmed; custom cufflinks he’d been planning to buy himself tucked away under extra sheets in the guest room; white lingerie that’ll remind him of your wedding night already in the mail, set to arrive while he’s gone to enjoy upon return. 

But there’s one thing for him to take on his trip. A consolation prize for  missing each other on  one of the most important days of the year (tied with your birthday and just above your anniversary).

You’ve taken videos and pictures of yourself in varying states of ruin for Seungcheol’s enjoyment. He’s done the same. Flashes of his fist covered in cum in the dim light of his room back when you didn’t cohabitate. Videos of him jerking off, rambling about all the things he’d do to you.

He’s only ever admitted it once. A fantasy he keeps tucked away, bubbling just under the surface. It’d been almost two years ago when drunkenness threw inhibitions to the wind (along with the way his cock stretched your throat) that Seungcheol, without much thought to the matter, admitted how badly he wanted to film it. Film you, mouth full of him, cum spilling across your lips, eyes watering. 

Neither of you mentioned it again afterwards but the idea stayed firmly planted in your subconscious. 

And what better occasion to make your on screen debut than your husband’s birthday?

“I do have one idea…to make up for you being gone.” You say, smoothing down the back of his shirt. “For both of us, really.”

“And what is that Mrs. Choi?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Okay,” he huffs with amusement. “I can pencil that in.”

“I wasn’t done yet.” You force him off your chest into a cushion, taking over the prime real estate of his lap. “I want to make a sex tape.”

“What?”

“So you can watch it whenever you miss me during your trip.”

“Baby, you don’t have too—”

“I want to.” You nod. “Honestly more for me than you but I thought it’d be a nice birthday present.”

“Are you serious?”

“Mhm.”

“Shit, okay.” He takes a breath, calming down the need growing in his chest. “Tonight?”

“No, I’ve gotta get some stuff.” You kiss his neck just to tease him, chest to chest with a grind back into his crotch because he’s your husband and you can.

His chin tips back to give you space, fingers twitching at your waist thinking of all the possibilities. “What kind of stuff are we talking about?”

“It’s not a surprise if I tell you.”

“But it’s for my birthday,” he argues.

“Perfect time for surprises then, isn’t it?” You hop off him and beeline for the shower, his footsteps barely a second behind.

Based on aesthetics alone, you’d pass for one of those amatuer porn couples; you wrapped in Seungcheol’s favorite pair of panties sans bra, him half naked with sweatpants low on his waist. A lamp casts the room in a dull warm glow that you hope will soften the unforgiving quality of the camera.

Seungcheol is meticulous. If he had it his way then the professional grade camera he got for Christmas would be catching every minute detail but you draw the line at feeling too much like a porn star. Instead it's a cheap tripod you ordered online hastily and his phone.

Watching him focus so intently gets you hot; the flex of muscles from his fingers to the bare skin of his chest, hair falling in his face as he balances it on the chair dragged in from the dining room. Your pulse races while you model on the bed for him; testing every angle and position he directs you into with heat in your gaze.

“We really should have done this sooner. Holy shit,” he mumbles.

“Looks good?” you ask over your shoulder, ass high in the air with a painful arch.

He grabs one of your cheeks with force, fingers digging into the curve and spreading you bare. “You look amazing.”

“Stop, you'll make me blush.” Empty words because you bend up at the waist, chest on show for later viewing.

“My wife asked me to film a porno for my birthday. I’ll say whatever I want, thank you very much.” He palms whatever he can reach, tweaking your nipples until they ache into peaks.

“Speaking of,” you sigh. “There’s a few more surprises, birthday boy.’

“Really?” 

Popping up, you plant a lazy kiss to his mouth, licking lewd intentions across his teeth. “In the top drawer of the dresser.”

Living alone means all the fun toys are kept in easy reach. The drawer is dedicated space for vibrators, dildos, butt plugs, paddles and whatever other random goodies collected over the years. So to have something not in your collection already makes him rush over to find out exactly what you’ve been so secretive about the past few days.

Seungcheol pulls out the silver bag, approaching the bed once again before separating the tissue paper to find what's inside.

“Are you serious?” he asks. 

Leather handcuffs dangle from his hold. Red with silver hardware. The kind with clips so he can tie you up anyway he wants. And maybe later, anyway you want to tie him up too.

“I am,” you smile, kissing across his chest. “There’s more in there.”

He digs back in, easily finding the slip of red silk.

“Babe…” he breaths. 

You kiss away his next words, soft and indulgent; a gross amount of tongue that comes with years of partnership. Both of you get lost in it, hands roaming, warming from the inside out. Seungcheol sucks on that spot below your jaw, a handful of ass threatening to distract you from the original purpose of tonight.

“I want you to do whatever you want to me,” you whisper pathetically only for him to hear, already forgetting the camera a few feet away.

Nostrils flaring, he watches as you mouth down his front. “You think I want to tie you up and blindfold you?” He’s cocky now; plain on his face how much the idea turns him on.

You slip to your knees on the floor, palm molded to his cock already plumping at the idea. “I think you wanna show me who is in charge.” 

Seungcheol sizes up your offer. The way you look up at him with an innocent expression like you aren’t mouthing over the tented crotch of his pants. “Then take my cock out like a good girl.”

You force his sweats down with eager glee as Seungcheol starts recording above. You're in your element between his thighs, a place you excel with minimal direction. With the ideas you’ve planted in his head, you won’t have to do much to get him off.

Gentle kisses along his thighs make his stomach dip. “Can I use my mouth?”

“Not yet.” Seungcheol shakes. “You’ll taste it plenty later. Use your hand.”

You rub his cock with a spit slick grip, mouth watering for the familiar flavor of his spend promised later. The tip of his cock shines in the low light. It’s quiet except for the dirty wet squelch and his already labored breath. You could get off to this alone. A hand between your thighs as you jerk him to completion until he paints your chest white. You suck your lip between your teeth at the thought.

“Look here.” He’s holding his phone near his chin, recording the crazed gleam in your eye. The blindfold rests in his other hand, forcing it into your empty one. “Put it on.”

An easy command leaving you riddled with anticipation. Without vision, there's no telling what his next move is. Giving Seungcheol the power to do whatever he pleases. Every time you’ve given him power, he’s made it worth your while and then some. Now won’t be different. He cups your face, thumb spreading your lips until you suck with a moan. And as quick as it came, the heat is gone.

It’s replaced by the prod of his cock against your cheek. He slaps it against your chin, a hot wet trail against the seam of your lips you eagerly lick away once he moves again. His dick rubs across your face lazily, degrading and dirty. Just how you like it.

You kiss whatever comes in reach; the vein webbing the underside, the head, his balls. Anything he’ll give you, you’ll take.

“Open your mouth.” Seungcheol taps it against your chin once again. He doesn’t let you suck him in immediately, giving you an inch before moving away only to repeat the motion over again. “Stick your tongue out.”

You do without hesitation, messy already. He forces the tip into the flat of it. A flood of his taste serving as a precursor until he gives you more.

You like to show off under normal circumstances and with a camera in the mix, you’re edged to the side of debauchery. Seungcheol’s cock is heavy on your tongue; an easy slide to the back of your throat with little resistance. You stroke him into your mouth, tongue lashing against the slit in the head. His thighs tense under your nails with a good choke before you pull off.

“Looks good?” You ask, hand replacing your mouth.

“Fucking perfect.” Seungcheol guides you back down with a hand on the crown of your head. With new leverage comes more thrusts but you take each in stride. Precum mixes with spit, dribbling out the corners of your mouth and down your chin. “God, so good to my cock. Feel so good like this.”

You make it sloppy, throat tightening in a loud gag. He hisses your name when you manage to take another inch from his praise. His weight sinks into your throat; holding there until you grow dizzy from lack of air. 

“Gonna cum,” he hisses. “Where do you want it?”

“On my face, come on my face.” You gasp for a quick breath before taking him again. 

He’s close, bucking into your mouth with renewed vigor from something so dirty. “Want me to cover your pretty face in my cum?”

The vibrations of your moan make his hips kick again. You bottom out with a choke, wet eyes hidden beneath silk. Another swallow, more tongue against the slit until he gives a shaky jerk.

“F-fuck, okay.” Seungcheol pulls himself away, fisting his length. “Stick out your tongue again. Shit, shit.”

He goes for show rather than convenience, painting your chin and cheeks in messy streaks. At least your eyes are safe from any errant drips. You suck him back in, tongue collecting whatever stuck to the head.

“Look so pretty like this,” he coos, slapping his cock against your tongue with the last few drips.

Years together means Seungcheol knows your game. In the distraction of getting him off, you snuck a hand between your legs, rutting against it pathetically. He let you get away with it far too long not to notice and now you’ll pay the price.

He kicks your thighs apart, leaving you without a hint of relief. A rough grip at the back of your neck pulls you away without warning. “You touch yourself when I tell you to. Got that?” 

Even with cum cooling on your skin, you still want more. “Sorry, sir.” 

A harsh exhale is all the warning you get before you're pulled to your feet. It doesn’t last long. Bent over the mattress, you're prone to a swift slap against the back of your thigh. Predictable. You know exactly what that word does to him; how it drives him up the wall. The last time you called him ‘sir’ he made you come so many times you couldn’t walk the next day.

“You’re gonna be,” he threatens with another swat before wrestling your wrists together at the dip of your spine. 

The cuffs link together easily. After testing their strength with a few gentle tugs, you’re left completely helpless to whatever your husband desires. Limp like a rag doll for his use. With the blindfold and the restraints, he’s got you at his mercy. It only drives you to act out more.

“Are you gonna spank me for being a bad girl, sir?” you goad, smile hidden in the sheets. A wiggle of your ass back into his hold to tease. You’re punished with another sting on the opposite thigh, then another and another. Each knots your stomach as you whine from the burn. The thought of the camera catching you, bent over, tied up, and covered in cum makes your insides warm with need. “That’s all you got?”

He answers with silence; a tense while he calculates. His hand squeezes across your heated skin, mindful of how much he gives you even when you challenge his authority like you weren’t asking for it.

The sound of ripping fabric fills your ears. Cool air rushes against the seat of your ass. You brace for another slap, prepared for it on the round of your ass. But Seungcheol likes to keep you on your toes.

The impact stings your clit, thighs trembling because it hurts in the best way. His fingers stay flat to roughly work you into weak submission. You barely register the cold lube dripping between your cheeks to ease Seungcheol’s fingers easing at your entrance. 

“That's all you got?” he mocks. “I swear one of these days I’m gonna fuck your throat until you can’t talk back.”

Your breath hitches at he fucks you open with two fingers, an embarrassingly easy stretch. “Could do it right now.”

“I’ve got other plans.” He rubs your insides raw, the sick squelch ringing in your ears. A calculating curl forces a twitch into your legs. All your weak spots are his playthings, until your nails bite into the meat of your palm from how well he works them.

“Like?” Your breath hitches with the next rush of his fingers. Even more when he spits on your hole and rubs the stiffness of his dick into the mess just to be nasty.

“No point of the blindfold if I tell you everything anyway.” 

“Seungcheol.” You shudder as he wedges a third finger inside.

He’s on his knees, chest hot against the back of your thighs, peppering soft kisses across your ass like he’s apologizing for the brand of his hand you’ll certainly feel tomorrow. You reposition to take him; legs spread, thighs stained with arousal from anticipation. Palms push against your legs to stretch further and  give the camera a good view. 

The tear in your underwear gives him plenty of room to work with but he’s also a show off, putting all the muscles he’s worked so hard for to use by ripping the remaining lace clean off with rough enthusiasm. They fall slack around your knees.

“Wish you could see how pretty your pussy looks spread around my fingers.” 

“I will when I watch this while you're gone.”

“Gonna touch yourself to this? Seeing yourself get fucked?” His fingers hit that spot inside you. The one that punches air from your lungs and breaks you in half with limited coaxing.

“Yeah, might hu—shit—hump your pillow while I do it.”

Unlocking the cuffs, you sag in relief, straining muscles relaxing after being bound for so long. Seungcheol flips you on your back and locks them back in place over your stomach. 

“Fuck yourself on my face then. Show me how much you want it and I’ll let you come.” He bites, tongue flattening in time with the return of his fingers. The camera must be somewhere else. Probably back on the chair at the side of the bed. 

You do as he asks; feet planted on the bed as you curl into the pleasure, humping his face. A staccato lap of his tongue gets you started, wearing against the stiffness of your clit. You arch into it, unperturbed by the ache across your body. Seungcheol latches tight; sucking until your vision spots.

“Oh my god,” you hum; nerves fuzzy in your core from so much stimulation. He lets you grip a tight fist in his hair, keeping him still so you can ride his tongue. 

“Come for me. All over my face like a good girl. That’s what you are right?” His fingers hit deeper. Gives you as much as you can possibly take. “My good girl?”

“I am, I–fuck, fuck. Yes, yes, yes!” Your orgasm rushes like a tsunami. It drowns you into utter silence, choked and shaking. You might fizzle away into nothing from the inside out. Seungcheol shoves your legs open to work you through it, dragging out every last inch until you kick at his stomach for a break. “Oh my god.”

“Good?” He smirks, chuckling when you jump at a cruel lick at your clit.

“Asshole,” you knee him in the side without much bite, focusing on catching your breath.

He sucks a bruise into your thigh because he can, pulling away to admire his work before speaking again. “Done or do you wanna keep going?” 

“Want you to fuck me,” you sigh. The emptiness consumes your brain, making you impatient for what happens next.

He licks his way up your stomach, sucking a nipple between his teeth while the other grows sensitive between his fingers. “How?”

Drawn out from your previous orgasm, sink pliant into the cushion of the mattress. “However you want.”

“What if I wanna fuck you…right…here.” His thumb digs into your asshole, wet with spit and the obscene accumulation of your own arousal.

“Fuck, yes.” You nod pathetically. “Fuck my ass.”

The sick bastard laughs at your desperation like it's a cruel joke. “Not tonight. Maybe next time I’ll take a video of you taking my cock in your ass and one of your dildos in that tight little pussy. You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

“You can fuck my pussy with both right now.”

“You’d want that?” His teeth bruise your nipple, hand dipping between your legs with no regard for your sensitivity. “God, you’re nasty.” 

“It'd be so hot,” you mumble. The jitters in your muscles haven’t faded yet you're already hungry for more. 

He leaves a kiss on your sternum before standing, footsteps padding against the floor towards the dresser. If he has any sense he’ll grab the one that perfectly resembles his cock. What once was a dirty gift exchange gag gift, now his favorite toy to watch you get off with.

“You sure?”

He’s sweet. But you don’t want him to be nice; you want him to dangle your pleasure in front of you and snatch it away when you get too close. “I’m pretty sure your phone is running out of space, so get to work big boy.”

When he comes back the blindfold is ripped away. Sweat beads on his forehead, hair wild, and skin pinked. Cock wet with a sticky mix of fluids, heavy against his thigh. He’s sexy like this. Based on how crazed he looks, you can only imagine yourself. And now you have it all caught on video.

“Hold this.” He shoves the phone into your grasp. “Film yourself getting fucked.”

The dildo is soaked in more lube; obscenely so. Enough to ruin the sheets and maybe the mattress but it looks good on the screen as he works it inside you until the base is flush with your pelvis. On the brink of breaking apart from just a clone of his dick, he fucks you nice and slow with it. A tedious grind into the heat of your core. Insides tightening but still missing something.

“What’s wrong baby?” he grins, fingers wedging inside around the edges. If you’re planning to take two cocks, he’ll make sure you’re prepped. “Tapping out on me already? Haven’t even put my cock in and you’re already whining.”

“Feels good.” You grit your teeth at his cockiness. This is for his birthday and if he wants you to be a pathetic mess for him, you indulge. “Fuck me harder with it.”

“Yeah? Imagine how it’ll feel when I fuck you with both. Stuffed until you can’t take it.”

“Kiss me,” you whine. You need something to distract from the visual of being split on two cocks before you explode. 

He does just that. A confusing mix of tender want compared to the vigor between your legs. Your hips grind on their own accord, tingling from his fingers torturing your clit in time.

“I love you,” Seungcheol sighs. “Fuck yourself on it. Show me how good you take it, yeah?”

You rock your hips into it the best you can, fumbling to keep his mouth firm against your own. A lazy rut but he won’t complain after all you’ve given him already.

The phone ends up back on the chair for now. Seungcheol doesn’t bother making sure either of you are in frame, trusting that whatever is getting caught will be hot enough even if it's just the sounds of fried vocal cords and the wet slap of skin on skin.

“Think you’re ready?”

“Mmm, give it to me. Let me feel your fat cock inside me.”

“You’re so needy.” 

Your thighs begin to ache from being spread to accommodate him but it’s easily drowned out by the head of his cock breaching your entrance.

“Oh,” you gasp. It’s not something you’d ever be able to describe. A stretch bordering on pain but nothing more lube, Seungcheol’s patience, and some deep breathing can’t fix. 

“Does it hurt?”

“No, just…really full. Wow.” You breathe, the pressure in your gut limiting everything to just this. It’s not an easy slide like the dildo, it’s more than you’ve ever felt. “Go slow, I can take it.”

He sinks deeper, another inch before stopping and pulling back out; restricted ruts making your teeth clench. You need a distraction. Something to keep your attention away from how uncomfortable it is. You want nothing more than to be stuffed as far as you can take it, but getting there might take a while.

And because your husband can always manage to read your mind, he flattens to your chest, mouth meeting your own in a dirty kiss that makes you blush more than the two cocks wedged inside you. “Feel good for you?”

“Tight.” 

“I’m always tight,” you taunt.

“Tighter. Wet too, fuck,” he grunts. A kick of his hips you're woefully unprepared for knocks you out of orbit. “Look so pretty taking my cock like this. Stuffed so full. So fucking tight.”

A punch to the gut from how deep his voice sounds. Seungcheol is better at keeping up the facade of nonchalance than you but it’s betrayed in the detail: shaky hands, red ears, glazed eyes. 

“God, you’re so big. Feel like you’re gonna tear me in half.”

“Really know how to treat a man, don’t you?” he laughs, pained. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Thinking about what you said earlier. Fucking my ass and my pussy at the same time.”

“You’d like that?” Seungcheol pants driving a little bit deeper.

“Yeah.” You melt in his hold. His cock in your ass is a special treat you like to indulge in whenever possible. “We can film that too.”

He fucks you with calculated grinds; slow until you beg him not to be. This is for you as much as it is for him and Seungcheol will only enjoy it if you are too, even if his cock is being squeezed to death.

“Is it in all the way?”

“Not even close, babe.” He coos, a sticky lube covered thumb brushing your cheek. “Relax.”

“Take two dicks inside you and see how well you relax.”

“I’m not the cock champ here, am I?”

“Just touch me. Please.”  He skates that same hand between your legs, gentle circles on your nub while sinking deeper and deeper. Your stomach caves when he adds more pressure. “Fuck, right there.”

It’s the permission he needs to spread you prone, knees up to your chest to give you more. “Can you keep touching yourself for me? Play with that pretty little pussy for me?” 

“Yes, sir.” You rub weak circles on your clit, range of motion limited from the handcuffs. 

He abandons his grip on the silicon to twist your nipple. “Watch it.”

“Or what?”

“Say it again and I’ll make you ride this dildo while I fuck your mouth again.” He grunts, nudging your cervix to remind whose mercy you're under.

“But then you won’t get to see me take your hot load like a good girl.” You glow warmly with his choked expression. 

“G-good—god—what kind of good girl talks about having her pussy filled?”

“The kind that wants you to spit in her mouth,” you beg. 

“Then stick your tongue out.” He’s in a frenzy from how desperate you are. Thighs squeezing at the command, you do what he asks and are rewarded with the sick wet of his spit against the back of your throat.

You don’t get a chance to ask for another round. Seungcheol flips you on your front, face to face with the camera lens. Two of his fingers, the ones that taste like your cunt, hook into your mouth. Sucking them deep, you lap against them like their his cock; eager for the camera to catch the depraved need to be used that only he can inspire.

“Feels good?”

“So good,” you garble. “I love when you fuck me.”

“Yeah? Pussy was made for me, wasn’t it? All for me?” His voice jumps, cock twitching when you clench around him despite everything he’s giving you.

“All for you.”

“Gonna take my cum? Let me fill you up? That's what you want, don’t you? To be my pretty little cum dump?” He bites your ear lobe, fisting the hair at the crown of your head when you fall forward. “Look at the camera, baby.”

Wild jerks of his hips manage to force you to take him deeper, the head of his cock nestled further into your walls. All you can manage is a pathetic whine in answer to his questions. “Oh god, Seungcheol.”

He builds the pace, slow enough not to tear you in half but what he restrains in his rhythm he makes up for with harsh curls into the back of your throat. Each vein and ridge imprints into your core, more depravity. 

You can feel it, from the tips of your toes to the crown of your skull; the ebb of another orgasm. Seungcheol sinks the full weight of his hips inside you, taking the chance to fuck you with the dildo instead.

The comforter greets your face, Seungcheol abandoning his grip on your hair to land another round of punishing swats on your ass. It takes everything in you to keep your head up, for you both to play back later and see how nasty you are for each other. You want your husband to know what you look like when he fucks you in half, how your eyes water and lip threatens to split under the clamp of your teeth.

“Gonna cum,” he groans. His chest seals against your back, pathetic ruts into your stinging ass. It barely lasts. A ploy to grab the camera again for a cumshot. You let your face drop into the mattress, arching for the best view he’ll ever get. “Gonna ruin this pussy.” 

“Do it.” 

He removes the dildo, focusing on how you still manage to cling to his cock after being full for so long. It frees his hand to curl under your hip and pinch your clit until you scream. “Want you to come again. Come on my cock and I’ll give you what you want.” 

There’s no slow build. A sprint to the finish at the hands of your lover, you twitch in his hold, mind vacant except for what he asks. Nothing but the need to come on his cock. The wet echo of skin slapping as he fucks you harder now without the threat of breaking you. 

“I’m—close, fuck. Fuck!” You cry. Wetting his cock, you flail against the bed because Seungcheol is a cruel bastard that drags you so thin when you’re weak. A few more harsh drags on your clit, stomach sinking in half, and he’s letting you go. It’s weaker than the first but enough for Seungcheol to give in.

“Gonna cum for you,” he hisses, shivering. You milk him for all he’s worth. Taking the warm flood along your insides that keeps coming, each thrust gushing excess around the base of his cock. 

He pulls out and you nearly sob. It’s a vulnerable feeling to be empty after taking a beating to your pussy, one Seungcheol doeesn’t let you marinate in because he’s still filming. And that means playing with the mess of your cunt while giving the camera a front row seat. A few thrust of the dildo coated in a sheen of your insides and cum has him cursing like nothing hotter has ever existed. You feel open and used, messy. “Push it out for me.”

Whatever trickles out, he fucks right back in. The aftershocks of your second orgasm numb it all. Like you're underwater and Seungcheol is at the surface. Muffled.

“Oh my God, that was so…Holy shit.” He stops the recording and tosses his phone away. “You’re incredible.”

“If you’re trying to sweet talk me into another round, you need to do better.”

“I can’t come again if I tried.”

“Ouch,” you wince. “Hurtful.”

“Drama queen,” he laughs. The kisses up your spine make up for the dig.

You hum into the ticklish sensation. “You love it.”

“Of course I do, that’s why I married you.” 

“And here I thought it was for my incredible cooking.” You slouch into the pillows, body finally sputtering to a halt. “I feel gross.”

“Happens when you're covered in cum and take two cocks. Give me ten minutes and we’ll take a bath. The maintenance guy fixed the jets today.”

“Oh, baby.”

You and Seungcheol fall asleep five minutes later, your face in the pillows and Seungcheol’s lips at your shoulder.

“I’m under the big sign that says ‘Buses.’ Wait, I think I see you.” Seungcheol’s voice rings through the speaker as you scan the crowd

“Stick your hand up. Okay, now wave it in the air. No, bigger. Make a ‘Y’—”

“You’re so annoying,” he barks as he opens the passenger door.

You ease back into traffic, his hand clasped in yours over the center console. “I didn’t know having some harmless fun is a crime.” 

“It is when I’m tired and I missed you.”

“Aw, poor baby,” you coo sarcastically. “I missed you too.”

The drive home is peaceful. Seungcheol kept you updated during his trip and vice versa. Even getting in the door of the house is done in lazy silence, your husband refusing to let you go more than a few feet away before drawing you back into his hold. 

Tucked under the covers with your head on his chest, you crack; unable to keep his final birthday surprise a secret any longer.

“You know, I have one more gift for your birthday.”

“Baby, I love you but I can’t stay awake to fuck you. I promise I will in the morning.”

“Not that you perv. It's in the closet.”

“It can’t wait until morning?” he pleads, snuggling down to hide under your chin. 

“Nope.”

He gets up with a dramatic pout, shuffling to the closet for a gift wrapped boxed you’ve had hidden since his birthday.  “What is it?”

“Open it.”

He shreds through the paper, tossing aside the lid. Each second has you worrying your lip. It’s something you talked about extensively; in hypotheticals not realities. When you’d be ready. It’s why you bought this house, why Seungcheol’s car has a high safety rating. Something you’d both been clear about wanting since the very beginning.

There wasn’t an active effort but neither of you argued to use condoms again when your last pack of birth control ran out and the prescription went unfilled. You both carried on in silent agreement that whatever may happen will happen.

“Blueberries? You know we have a fridge to keep these in, right?”

“Fruit doesn’t belong in the fridge,” you shakily argue. “Now, read the note.”

“At seven weeks your baby is about the size of a blueberry. Baby Choi’s eyes, nose, mouth, and ears are starting to look more—” he trails off, jaw slack. “Baby Choi?”

You burn under his gaze, shy like the first time he said I love you all those years ago. “Surprise?”

“Are you serious?” 

He drops the fruit when you nod, no doubt spilling the fruit everywhere in his haste to kiss you. It’s hard with both you beaming, cheeks round and burning. Kisses to your cheeks and chin and lips and nose like he can’t believe it’s a real thing. 

“I’m serious. Next week it’ll be the size of a grape and have fingers.” You pat your belly gently, his own hand caught under yours and snaking beneath your pajamas. “Weird to think about.”

“Oh my god.” He flushes. “How did you…?”

“Had a feeling while you were gone,” you admit. “On your birthday actually.”

“Really?” He’s staring at your stomach. You aren’t showing but since you’ve found out you can’t stop looking in the mirror for a change. That’s probably what he’s doing right now. Looking for those signs of proof that will start coming sooner than later.

“Yeah, I took like five tests in the grocery store bathroom to be sure.”

He doesn’t speak for a while, regarding you with silent awe. His cheek rests flat against your belly. There's a squeeze of your hand while his eyes sink shut to settle into the news. “We’re gonna be parents.”

“Yeah,” you smile. “My boobs are supposed to start getting bigger soon.”

“I thought something was different.”

“Probably the lack of sleep from your big ass baby.”

“Our big ass baby,” He corrects. “Is it too early to start decorating the spare room?” 

“It literally doesn’t even have a face right now.” 

Seungcheol kisses your navel, lips moving across the skin. “Your mommy is so mean to me. I think you’d be beautiful even if you don’t have a face.”

A week of knowledge, the initial anxiety you’d bottled up in effort to make sure he’s the first person you told (not including your gyno) starts to spill out.  “We can do this, right? You’re ready?”

His head pops up, eyes softening as he meets yours. “There is no one in the world I’d rather do this with.”

“Me either.”

“Best birthday present ever.”

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© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

[rhaenyra-storms]

Hiii I hope you are well! I would like to request Cregan Stark x reader where he gifts her a direwolf on their wedding night and immediately regrets it when all her attention is on her new pet and not on him. Thank you 😊

this idea is simply so adorable, i love it!!

pairing: cregan stark x f!reader warnings: cregan being a little jealous, he needs attention (<3), brief mention of reader having had sex with cregan, nudity, reader's house is not specified but it's in the north, cregan and reader are a little madly in love words: 1.1k

masterlist

As a child, you had always wondered what your wedding night would be like. You had fantasised about the man you might marry, about the ceremony and what dress you would wear. Your mother had always assured you that you shouldn't dream too much about it, so the reality of things wouldn't potentially disappoint you.

Growing up in the most southern part of the North, you only ever ventured to Winterfell for a big feast. It was also the only time you were able to meet with Cregan Stark who happened to be the same age as you.

Your parents weren't oblivious to the fact that you seemed to get along well with the young lord and it wasn't a surprise to anyone when your marriage was arranged for years later. As you and him came of age, you had visited Winterfell countless times throughout your teenage years. Cregan had now accepted the title of Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, making you Lady of Winterfell after your planned wedding.

Despite your mother preparing you for the worst when it came to an arranged marriage, you were lucky enough to fall in love with the man you had to wed. Cregan was strong, but gentle and he loved to take you on long walks around the Godswood or even in the forest. His hands were calloused from work and fighting, but they always bore a comforting warmth when they gingerly touched your face.

Your wedding night had been a great feast and you seemed to lose yourself in each other when you were finally alone. The sounds from the people still celebrating downstairs had quiet down and so did the steps of guests returning to their rooms in the castle.

Cregan had wrapped his arm around you as you cuddled close to each other under the wolf pelts. You hadn't bothered to put on new clothes anymore, legs intertwined and your fingers moving over his strong chest.

Your husband planted a soft kiss on the top of your head, his hand gently moving down your spine. "I still want to show you something before we go to sleep, my love," he whispered, his deep voice leaving goosebumps on your skin. You tilted your head up, looking for his grey eyes as you were already wondering what he might have to show you in this moment.

You had already received so many gifts throughout the night, but nothing came close to spending time with Cregan, alone. "Now I'm curious," you chuckled and pushed yourself up a little.

His gaze lingered on your body for a moment and he didn't hesitate to steal a kiss from your lips before he climbed out of the bed. He grabbed his undergarments and a robe from the chair near the fireplace. It was hard to contain your smile when you watched the defined muscles in his back move as he covered himself up.

"Stay here. I promise I'll be right back."

Your husband probably wasn't gone for longer than a few moments, but you couldn't wait to see what he would come up with. You sat up against the headboard and pulled the covers over your body, impatiently staring at the door to your room.

After what felt like an eternity to you, Cregan eventually returned with a small puppy in his arms. A direwolf pup if your eyes didn't deceive you.

"You're joking," you gasped and didn't hesitate to open your arms, reaching out for the pup as your husband sat down on the edge of the bed. "You've been talking a lot about direwolves recently, so I thought this would make a fine gift for the new Lady of Winterfell," he smiled, placing the grey puppy down in your lap.

He was small, but his eyes were full with curiosity as it looked at you. "Is it a boy or a girl? This is wonderful, Cregan, thank you," you smiled, squeezing your husband's hand gently before stroking over the puppy's fur.

"It's a boy, but you can choose its name, of course."

It would take you a little to think about a suitable name, but that surely wouldn't stop you from cuddling the puppy all night long. The direwolf seemed to be content in your presence too as it cuddled into you almost instantly, looking up at you with its big eyes. Cregan watched you with a smile on his face and he took the time to drink a cup of wine and undress once more as you scratched the puppy behind its ears and made sure the wolf knew how adorable it was.

You had always admired direwolves and having your own seemed like a dream in this moment. You didn't even notice that your husband settled back into bed with you, laying down on the pillows next to you.

How much time passed until he broke the silence?

It was adorable to see you so happy. He wanted to see you like this for the rest of his life, happiness in your eyes and that adorable smile on your face. But he couldn't help feeling like he might have robbed himself of your attention for the evening and the following days. There wasn't any hard feelings of course, but he also couldn't resist you when you were right next to him.

While you were scratching the puppy under its chin, Cregan sat up next to you, one arm sliding around your waist. You could feel his breath next to your ear, a shiver running down your spine.

"You forgot me so easily," he joked softly, teeth grazing your ear. A giggle escaped your lips and you turned your head to him slowly, the still unnamed puppy stretching in your lab. "Is someone jealous?" You asked, coaxing a laugh from your husband.

"Maybe. A little. I want head scratches too," he grinned, taking your chin between two fingers and tilting your head more towards him. "I just want a few more kisses from my wife before we go to sleep." His voice got a little deeper with each word, his gaze flickering between your lips and eyes.

The puppy climbed over into his lap eventually, but you were too entranced in your husband's eyes to care too much about it. You brought a hand up to brush a loose strand of dark hair back behind his ear.

"Mhm, I'm sure I can arrange that," you whispered against his lips. Cregan closed the gap between you eventually, the kiss gentle, but passionate.

Even though you did continue to play with the puppy for a little while longer, he felt like the happiest man alive as his arms wrapped around you from behind, feeling your figure against him as he fell asleep slowly an hour later.

He couldn't wait to wake up next to you the following morning. And for all mornings to come.

[athulyaaindia]

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[rafesbabygirlx]

Drew’s Birthday Gift

Masterlist

Drew Starkey x Wife!Reader

Summary: It’s Drew’s birthday and the two of you usually have a ton of fun, drinking and going out with friends but this years different. You are 7 months pregnant, constantly exhausted and in pain.

A/N: A day late but the idea came to me last night then I fell asleep lol

I allude to Drew’s gift on his 30th with reader. I have a fun idea for that if you’d like a part 2!

Warnings: fluff/smut all in one, smut towards the end, body insecurity (reader being pregnant) hormones, reader is hard on herself

Part 2: Drew’s 30th

Coming home from Poguelandia was a relief. You’d spent most of the day on your feet, swollen and aching all the way up to your claves, but it had all been worth it. The OBX cast adored you, and despite the physical toll, it was an amazing day.

The past few months had been nothing short of magical: Drew’s film premiere, getting engaged in Venice, Paris Fashion Week, a courthouse wedding a week later, the OBX premiere, and Poguelandia. Working remotely allowed you to travel with Drew effortlessly, though adjusting to new time zones was always a challenge.

Your wedding was intimate, just as you both wanted. Chip served as your witness, which felt fitting since he was the reason you two met. Family and close friends flew in for a dinner celebration afterward. You never envisioned yourself as a wife or mother, but Drew had a way of changing everything you thought you knew about yourself.

As your pregnancy progressed, the constant travel began to wear on you. Now in your third trimester, even the simplest tasks left you breathless, sore, and utterly exhausted. Putting on shoes was nearly impossible and every muscle ached in your body.

This year, guilt gnawed at you for not being able to plan something extravagant for Drew’s birthday. The best you managed was flying in his sister, brother, and a few close friends for a small dinner. For the past five years, you’d always organized grand celebrations. His 30th birthday was unforgettable, with a *special* gift that left Drew infatuated for days. But this year, you barely had the energy to make it through the day, let alone plan something big. You worried it wasn’t enough.

Pregnancy brain struck hard when you realized, as you were getting ready, that you hadn’t even bought him a gift. The sudden wave of panic brought tears to your eyes, but you forced them back, determined not to ruin the day. You felt like the worst wife.

Dinner was nice, set at Drew’s favorite restaurant in LA. The food was impeccable, and you managed to push aside your self-doubt, even as your back ached from the uncomfortable chair. Drew noticed and rested his hand on your thigh, concern in his eyes. “You okay? You’ve been quiet tonight,” he asked softly.

“Yeah, just uncomfortable,” you said, tapping the back of the chair. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you and the chair closer, and held you there for the rest of the night.

When the cake arrived, the group began to sing “Happy Birthday.” You smiled at Drew but glanced at the cake and noticed “birthday” was misspelled. Normally, such a thing wouldn’t bother you, but today, it felt like the final straw. You kept it together until Drew kissed you, and you whispered playfully, “Save me a piece.” You kissed him again before slipping away to the restroom, locking the door behind you. Taking a few deep breaths, you tried to calm the storm of emotions. You felt selfish for not being able to handle your emotions, but the third trimester had turned you into an emotional rollercoaster. A few tears fell before you dabbed your cheeks with a paper towel with cold water and pulled yourself together.

Returning to the table, Drew’s eyes met yours, now filled with concern. “Are you sure you’re alright? You can tell me, baby,” he said.

You managed a small smile, placing your hand on his cheek. “I’m fine, just… you know, it doesn’t wait for anything now,” you joked, gesturing to your belly. You both chuckled, but Drew wasn’t convinced. He knew you too well.

╰☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆╮

Back home, you collapsed on the couch, Drew helping you out of your boots. The sense of relief was immediate. He sat beside you, lifting your swollen feet onto his lap to massage them. “This is your day, you relax. Don’t pamper me for once,” you said, trying to sound lighthearted. You lifted your feet off of him and he felt the disconnect from you.

“I’m sorry, I’m just tired. Can we go to bed?” you added, the exhaustion weighing down your voice.

“Of course, let’s go.” Drew helped you to your feet, and you changed into pajamas. Lying in bed, facing each other, a silence hung between you as you propped up one arm, rested your head in your hand, and absentmindedly traced patterns on his bare chest.

“Tell me what’s wrong now,” he said, his voice gentle but firm.

“I told you, nothing’s wrong.”

“Five years together, and you think I don’t know when something’s up? What time is it?” he asked.

“It’s 11:50,” you replied after checking the clock.

“Okay, in 10 minutes, my birthday will be over, and you’ll tell me what’s really going on. Deal?” He knew that’s what the constant dismissal was for tonight.

You wanted to deny it, but all you could manage was, “Deal.”

Those 10 minutes passed in silence, your mind racing. As soon as the clock struck midnight, Drew spoke again. “Tell me, please, baby.”

“I… I just think I ruined this day for you.” He looked puzzled but waited for you to continue. Sitting up, you leaned against the headboard, and he mirrored you.

“I usually go all out for your birthday, make it a huge event with everyone you love. But this year, all I could pull together was a dinner. I’ve felt terrible all day, and when the cake was misspelled, it was just the cherry on top. I didn’t even get you a gift, and our birthday sex is usually amazing. But I’m so swollen and uncomfortable, I didn’t even want you to see me naked. It’s just a lot, and I didn’t want to ruin your day.” Tears rolled down your cheeks as you spoke.

Drew leaned towards you and cupped your face, forcing you to look at him. “Hey, don’t cry. You didn’t do anything wrong. I loved today. I love every birthday we spend together because you’re what makes it special. This might be my favorite birthday yet. I was surrounded by the people I love, and most importantly, I had you and our son with me. What more could I possibly want? Next year, it’ll be even better when he’s here and you’re singing happy birthday to me, I’ll holding him.” His words sent a fresh wave of tears down your face. How could he be this sweet? How are you this lucky.

“I know it’s been tough on you, and I didn’t want to push. But I do still have a birthday wish,” he said, smirking as you wiped your tears and smiled.

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” you asked.

“You. But only if you’re comfortable. I’m going to love you no matter what, and I think you’re more beautiful now, with this bump and everything you’re going through to grow our son.”

His words melted away your insecurities and exhaustion. “You’re the only gift I want, Y/N,” he whispered.

You wiped your eyes and stood up. “Where are you going?” Drew asked, confused.

“To get your gift wrapped.” A few minutes later, you emerged from the closet wearing the white lace lingerie set you’d bought for your maternity shoot. His jaw dropped, and you knew you’d made his night complete. “Wow.”

╰☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆╮

Drew got out of bed and sat at the edge, reaching his arms out for you. You settled in between his legs.His hands glided over your body, igniting a spark within you. "All this for me? You shouldn't have," he whispered, his smirk sending shivers down your spine. You blushed at his words, but your heart swelled with affection as he continued, "I told you, you were beautiful when I met you. You were beautiful every day for the past 5 years, and you're even more beautiful now that you're my wife and the mother of my child. There's no one else I'd want to do this with."

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his. “Thank you, my love.” His kisses traveled from your mouth to your neck, each touch light and deliberate. His hands moved gently, offering a reassuring comfort as he reached for the clasp of your bra. You tensed for a moment, and he paused. “Can I see all of you?” he asked, his tone full of affection. You nodded, allowing him to remove the fabric. His lips found their way to your chest, kissing you with a reverence that sent warmth through your body. He moved with care, knowing how tender your body had become.

Drew lifted you effortlessly and placed you at the center of the bed, returning to remove his own sweatpants before joining you. Your confidence surged in the safety of his presence, and you began to slide down your underwear. He helped, eyes never leaving yours, full of admiration and love.

It had been months since you last shared an intimate moment. Between your growing belly and hidden insecurities, and sex drive plummeting from hormone, your desire had waned. But now, Drew’s touch and words reignited something inside you, a closeness you’d missed. He gently ran his fingers along your body, his touch both soothing and electrifying. His movements were slow and careful, each one a reminder of how cherished you were.

He rubbed his fingers through your folds, coating them in your arousal, he ran his hand up and down his length as he met your entrance, and slowly entered you. The stretch felt amazing, and you squirmed beneath him, eager for more. You loved the way he made you feel, the way he took care of you.

You two usually have fun in bed. You experiment and are usually rough. It’s easy to do with him, knowing he’ll never truly hurt you and you’re both just so comfortable with each other. Tonight was different, though. Everything was more intimate, more tender. His strokes were slow and full of love. He leaned in, careful of your bump, placed one arm beneath you and the other on your side. His forehead pressed against yours as he looked into your eyes. "So good, Drew," you whispered, and he smiled, his eyes filled with affection. "Just wanna take care of you, baby, you're the best gift ever."

You felt overwhelmed with affection, tears threatening to spill as he continued to hold you with care. The room was quiet, filled only with soft whispers and shared breaths as he adjusted his pace to your need.

He keeps this pace, until you grow a little impatient. “A little harder… please.” He picks up the pace the second you ask. Still soft with his movements but the speed is much better. His head is wedge in the crook of your neck as you run your fingers through his hair and down his back, feeling more connected than ever. He licked his fingers and touched your clit. Moving slow deliberate circles keeping the same pace as his hips. You’re getting closer and you clench down on him. “Come for me baby, forget about the pain for a little bit.”

You become putty in his arms and his words send you spiraling into an orgasm that washed over you like a tidal wave. Drew’s follows behind. He sits up and runs his hand over your bump. “Most beautiful mother I’ve ever seen. You’re an angel.” You smile at his words.

"You're the most beautiful mother I've ever seen," he whispered, his eyes filled with adoration. You smiled, feeling loved and cherished.

He gets up and puts back on his sweatpants returning with a washcloth and a big t-shirt of his. He cleans you up and pulls the shirt over your head. He gets back into bed and pulls you to him. “Best birthday ever, thank you my love. I love you so much.”

“I love you too Drewbug.” And as you fell asleep in his arms, you knew that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

[just-some-user-hunny]

Platonic yandere Rhaenyra as your mother...

~ The moment she laid eyes upon you, she helplessly fell in love. All the anger and shock towards Daemon took a backseat to her emotions the moment she saw you- her breath stuttering in her throat as her own amethyst eyes settled upon the wailing girl in the mad prince's arms. No woman is keen upon the idea of their other half returning with a child that they've had behind their back, but the sight of a girl- a daughter, for her, settled her decision at once. It's unlikely for her to take out her frustrations out on you, and something about your tearful little face and upset cries for your mother made her want to take you into her arms at once to soothe you. She didn't care at all about you being a bastard, all she could see was a daughter. Hers.

~ Rhaenyra would spoil you. Gifting you dresses and jewellery and books and fine silk threads, and always wearing an adoring twinkle in her eyes whenever she sees you. Rhaenyra herself loves her precious gems and fine luxurious dresses, and now with her own little girl, you bet you're getting spoiled. She'd also love seeing her dear boys get along with you, further fueling her delusions that you're her own child. She'll call her 'my dearest love' and 'sweet girl' , a cautious protective arm always within reaching distance of you if things get heated at the dining table during rowdy family dinners.

~ she's often the one to smoothe your anger and sadness over when it comes to your conflict with Daemon, your father. He is always the one to dish out punishments and restrictions, and in his stead, she'll be the one to lather you with comfort and alternatives. As a child she'd carry you in her arms, wiping away your tearfulness and promising you a ride with Syrax after Daemon forbids you from riding your own dragon for a week. That dynamic fits well with them. Essentially, Daemon is The bad cop, and she is the good cop.

~ as a child, you were very against this woman mothering you when you missed your one mother at home. However you may eventually grow soft to Rhaenyra, even if it's unintentionally done. She's so attentive and gentle towards you, it's hard not to seek out her comfort- even if most of it is dismissive and performative to keep you calm. She'd happily braid your hair if you wish to go riding upon horse or dragon-back, and always with a smile upon her face.

~ Rhaenyra soothing you whenever you fights with her father, Daemon. She is firm, but gentle, the perfect salve to Daemons cruelty and coldness. He has always stood strong and confident, and the powerlessness you'd feel around him would both infuriate you, and make you feel hopeless. Rhaenyra is always there for the aftermath, to distract you from the sadness brewing in your chest. Squeezing your hand beneath the table as you all eat your meals together, your presence always insisted upon by Viserys and Daemon.

~ she'd be a fiercely protective mother. As you grow older, transitioning from her little girl to a young woman, she'd be very against any arranged marriages. If she could, she'd keep you at home forever, single and happy- or free to love whoever you like as long as they are approved by her and Daemon and that you remain at home with them.

Thankfully, due to your bastard heritage, you have no political duty to marry, and are therefore free from being wed for gain. (Sure, you'll never seat the iron throne, but as a woman in those times everything was cut-throat. You may as well have a taste of freedom)

~ Syrax is just as doting. You're her riders little girl, and that maternal feeling would come through both Rhaenary, and syrax. The large golden dragon will chirp and purr in your presence, bowing her head to sniff and gently prod at you- like a doting mother.

"Darling, are you joining us for lunch?"

"For the afternoon".

Rhae smiled warmly, watching you pet Syrax- who gazed upon the princess with passive golden eyes. Crooning gently into your touch, before retreating softly. Rhaenyra approaches soon after- peeling her riding gloves off before taking your face within the cradle of your palms and kissing your brow. 1...2...3, a mantra of soft kisses laid upon your face before she steps back to look at you. Her smile is genuine and warm.

~ As the dance of the dragon approaches, the more protective and demanding she becomes. Suddenly your dragon riding time is limited, especially after Luke's death :( the moment you even suggested leaving upon dragon-back to get some fresh air in the clouds she snaps almost tearfully, composing herself shortly afterwards, and then sending you outside upon the balcony with a guard. A pleading look in her eyes begging you not to disobey her, for her sake, please. She cannot lose you as well.

~ She becomes especially paranoid about team green snatching you away, as both teams are obsessed with keeping you on their sides amidst the approach of war. The amount of kingsguard that stand position outside your chambers every night, hell, even accompanying you around the castle increases. You seldom have a moment to yourself without a lady in waiting heel-to-heel with you, or a towering armoured knight breathing down your neck.

Even with Daemon gone, you're still trapped within the castle.

~ Bastard!princess reader wants nothing to do with this war, and although she may have created a connection to Rhaenyra and Jace and her twin sisters, she may see this as an opportunity to finally leave. Escape would be difficult, near impossible, but not out of the question. You still have your dragon at your call, so you may find a way to slip away and find a way to get to your dragon to escape.

Everyone would go mad however, almost putting a pause on the conflict to go out and find you. Be warned that Daemon and Rhaenyra would immediately go seek your hometown and mother and brothers (that is, if they are still alive), so you'd have to be smart with slipping from their grasps.

~ To the end Rhaenyra will hold onto you dearly like her life-line, committed to being your mother, regardless of your feelings or circumstance. Even as she is burnt, she will not cry or scream- only thinking of everything that she has lost. How she failed you, and everyone she ever held close.

(under the scenario that in the end you did leave and vanish, or worse, got killed in the conflict).

[dailyfanficsx]

NSFW

Nurturer: Aemond x Reader

Summary: Aemond is looking for you while he’s in a grumpy mood and it turns into a moment of vulnerability.

(authors note: i got this idea from last weeks episode just my little twist on it. a little bit of nsfw content towards the end)

Aemond looks out the window with a frown. He huffed as he felt himself growing incredibly frustrated. Where was she? He had a lot of patience, but for this he had none. A man as powerful as him shouldn’t be left wondering where his lady wife was. It was disrespectful. He began pacing around. His eye scanning the room. He had to busy himself or else he’d explode. He sat down on the bed. His fingers playing with the silk pillowcases. He huffed once more, his eyes glancing out of the window as he waited.

You finally walk in. Your long curls in a ponytail and wearing a long sleeved burgundy dress. Aemond glanced at the wedding ring on your finger but you weren’t wearing the necklace that he gifted you. That he specifically told you to wear whenever you went anywhere without him. You place your books down and gasps softly as you finally see him sitting by the window.

“Aemond, what are you doing here” You ask softly. You usually didn’t see him much until after his meetings for the day.

Aemond stands up quickly, he steps to you. He looks you up and down. He gently grabs you chin, lifting your face, so you’ll look at him.

“Where have you been, dear wife?” He said with a stern, almost cold tone. He gripped your chin gently. His eyes raking over your body. Your curves in that red dress. Your hair in that ponytail. Your sweet plump lips.

“In the library” you say softly confused at his stern tone looking into his cold eye.

Aemond’s eye narrows. “In the library” he repeated in a low voice. He let go of your chin as he looked down at you with a mixture of annoyance and a hint of something else.

“And you couldn’t bother to wear my necklace?” He said bluntly, his eye looking at your bare neck.

“I forgot it, I was in a rush” you say softly. You were used to his temper. The way he would act so possessive over you. You walk over to sit on the bed hoping he would follow.

Aemond rolled his eye at your excuse. He followed you to the bed and sat down beside you. He gently grabbed your wrists and pulled you against him. His large hand rested on your thigh as he looked down at you.

“You know how I feel about you not wearing it, darling…” He said in an annoyed tone.

“I will remember next time” you say softly as you look up at him. You could tell something else was wrong with your husband. He was never here this early.

“Lay with me” you say softly as you caressed his face.

Aemond’s face softened as he felt your hand upon his cheek. He let you pull him down to the bed, and he laid down beside you. His body half on top of yours. He pulled you closer into him. His big arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you against him. Despite his cold and stern demeanor, he was quite affectionate with you. He buried his face into you. Inhaling your scent. He was silent for several moments, debating on if he should talk to you about the other matter that was bothering him. You wait patiently for him to speak, knowing it took time with him. You slowly help him undo his armor. Until he lays completely bare and you pull the covers over you two.

He watches you silently as you remove his armor and eyepatch. He reaches over to your hair, gently pulling the ribbon holding the ponytail in place. He lets your hair go free, running his hand through the soft curls. He lays back down into the bed. Pulling you to lay beside him. He gently kisses your forehead. Aemond’s arm is tight around you. He is silent once more. He is enjoying this quiet moment with you, yet the thought that’s been bothering him ever since you returned is still there.

“What’s wrong?” You ask him as you look into his one eye caressing his long silver hair.

Aemond let you caress him, enjoying the feeling of your hand on his skin. He huffed as you ask him what’s wrong. His eye darkening at the thought of his brother and his teasing right before he came to your chambers. He pulled you even closer to him.

“Aegon being an annoying prick as usual…..more than usual.” Aemond says bluntly in a tone that’s dripping with annoyance.

Aemond lays with you for a moment and thinks about what just happened in the study with his brother. The mention of his trauma and childhood were not things he wanted to think of. They were scars that he tried to forget. Yet Aegon always seemed to find a way to bring them up.

“He has no right to tease me. But you know that it doesn’t stop him.” He says. He looked at you with a tired expression. He was frustrated.

Aemond’s expression softens as he stares into your eyes. He let out a deep sigh as you saw the sadness written all over his face. He knew hiding his feelings from you was pointless. He gently cups your face and runs his thumb over your cheek.

“The things he was saying have been lingering in my mind. It is quite annoying honestly” He says quietly.

“You cannot let it bother you anymore…he has no real power over you…at least not anymore” You say softly trying to console him.

Aemond’s jaw clenches at your words. He didn’t like being reminded of how he was just a boy who was teased and bullied. About not having any power.

“I know he has no real power anymore, but that doesn’t change the fact that it happened….the taunting….losing an eye….and the women he used to make me lay with….” Aemond said quietly with disdain, his thoughts trailing off.

You nod gently understanding. “Let me comfort you now” You say to him.

Aemond’s eyes softened at your words. He wanted nothing more than your comfort. He pulled you close. His arms wrapped around you tightly. He buried his face into your shoulder.

“Please.” He mumbled. He was a strong, dangerous man. A dangerous man who desired your comfort and love like a small child.

He unwraps your dress and let it fall just to your hips. Aemond pulls you closer and practically buries his face into your chest. His arms wrapped around you tightly. His face buried into your soft skin. He drank you in. His lips kissing your chest. He felt soothed by your presence. In this moment, he was vulnerable and needy. He desperately needed your comfort.

He let out a content, shaky sigh as he latched onto you. He buried his face between your chest, his nose buried so deep in your skin he could faintly smell the scent of some of your favorite oils that you had on. He kissed some more before making way to your small erect nipple. He latched onto it greedily. He practically suckled on your skin like a small boy.

He felt a mixture of comfort and embarrassment at his own vulnerability. He knew he was supposed to be strong. Like a dragon. Yet there he was, practically feeding from your chest like a lost child. He could feel his cheeks heating up but he didn’t care. Your comfort was soothing his troubled mind and body. He looked up at you with his one eye, his voice still muffled from his face being buried in your chest.

“Thank you…” He mumbled quietly

He closes his eye gently as he went back to suckling. He pushed you back onto the sheets so that you could lay comfortably as he remained latched onto you, fulfilling his need for comfort and nurturing.

[corporategiftsonline]

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[starlostseungmin]

husband!jeongin

✰ notes: this is 2 days late but jeongin’s here!! thank you so much to that jeongin biased anon who read my husband minho headcanon and for giving me this idea!! i appreciate you so much <33 not proofread. DO NOT FORGET TO REBLOG, COMMENT AND LEAVE TAGS! thank you <33

seungmin , chan , lee know（ jeongin ）han , changbin , felix , hyunjin.

ꔛ

Husband Jeongin who tripped when he got down on one knee just to propose. You laughed at him but said yes at the end. He got embarrassed so you gave him the sweetest kiss on the lips which he gladly returned passionately.

Husband Jeongin whose Hyungs got emotional the moment he’s officially married. Chan and Hyunjin cried the most. 

Husband Jeongin who got a full sponsor from Chan throughout your wedding to your honeymoon because he was generous and loves to spoil Jeongin. You too. 

Husband Jeongin who is clumsy and gives you secondhand embarrassment but the amount of love still remains. He tripped at the bowling alley after rolling the ball on your date. Not once but twice. 

Husband Jeongin whose idea of dates consists of watching movies at the cinema, shopping, eating at your favorite restaurants, and spontaneous travels. 

Husband Jeongin who scams you with his cuteness just to make you buy him some stuff, especially his type of shoes and he feels like he’s on top of the world when you do. He goes for the weird ones with style. 

Husband Jeongin who buys you your favorite albums even though he jokes around that you’re cheating on him with another group rather than his own. 

Husband Jeongin who loves shopping and stealing kisses inside the fitting room cubicles while you are changing. You weren’t used to it as it leaves a blush on your cheeks. 

Husband Jeongin who loves taking selfies with you. In this marriage, you are the photographer and he’s the model but at the same time, he loves taking pictures of you, especially candid ones. 

Husband Jeongin who loves food, and rates them with you based on their tastes. 

Husband Jeongin who takes you out on a night stroll while eating ice cream you two bought from the convenience store nearby. 

Husband Jeongin who is the reason for your cuteness aggression that makes you want to smooch and cuddle him all day. He can’t resist any physical touch from you anyway. 

Husband Jeongin who can’t cook to save his life so you taught him how to yet still fails. You both just laugh it off. 

Husband Jeongin who respects your beliefs and never judges them. 

Husband Jeongin whose love languages are gift-giving, quality time, and physical touch. 

Husband Jeongin who lets you sleep on his shoulder, on his lap, or just use his body as your pillow. He doesn’t mind and doesn’t say anything but initiates cuddles to make you more comfortable. 

Husband Jeongin who gets angry when someone upsets you and is the type of person to do something back so no one could touch you again. 

Husband Jeongin who can’t keep up for a long time being not okay with you after an argument and proceeds to apologizeーhugging you tenderly as he whispers that he loves you. 

Husband Jeongin who doesn’t want to be away from you for a long time and misses you the most when he goes abroad to work. He’ll call you when he gets to the airport or when he’s not busy. 

Husband Jeongin who loves kids but doesn’t pressure you to have one with him.

Husband Jeongin who tries his hardest in this relationship to give you the love you deserve but you insist that he doesn’t need to put in a lot of effort because he is already enough and the heartwarming things he does with you are considered as reassurance. 

Husband Jeongin who is a baby and still a baby for you even if he insists that he’s already a grown-up. His Hyungs would argue otherwise. 

Husband Jeongin who has a precious smile and adorable laugh. He has a lot of cute sides and whines like a kid in a good and acceptable manner. 

Husband Jeongin who is always true about his feelings for you and never lies. 

Husband Jeongin whom you love the most in the world and swore you’ll protect him at any cost. 

Husband Jeongin who promised to love you forever and never hurt you which you’d do too. 

✰ taglist: @notastraykid , @ameliesaysshoo , @l3visbby , @reignessance , @lix-ables , @skzfelixlove , @rachabreathing , @hyunverse , @minluvly , @sleepyleeji , @starseungs , @midsoulz , @oddracha , @armystay89

©️ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐌𝐈𝐍 , 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒.

[johnpriceslamb]

— 𝓙𝓐𝓝𝓤𝓐𝓡𝓨

You are to be wedded by the end of the year. Upon travelling, you’re met with a group of pesky bandits.

𝓑𝓔𝓕𝓞𝓡𝓔 𝓨𝓞𝓤 𝓟𝓡𝓞𝓒𝓔𝓔𝓓 : age gap . fem ! reader . afab ! reader . hyper feminine ! reader . reader is mentioned to be physically smaller than chars mentioned in story . reader is in early 20’s . arthur is in late 20’s - early 30’s . fighting scenes . gore . traditional gender stereotypes heavily mentioned .

At the end of the year, you’ll be married off to a man.

Someone strong, handsome, clever, and gentle in heart. You hope.

“Marriage is the ultimate goal for a woman.”

Your corset is tightened by your nanny from behind. The tightness of it makes your breath hitch slightly, hands curling up unconsciously.

In the late winters of 1892, the rolling plains of Lemoyne were no match for nobility. You were dragged along by daddy who was on a grand tour in the west, despite not being keen on the idea. He insisted on seeing the rails and trains he invested in, so you didn’t have much of a choice other than to tag along.

She ushers you to stand up so she could fit the petticoat around your hips. The bands of the voluptuous under-skirt were stretched, allowing you to titter in the large hole and shape your figure again. You’re thankful that it’s a lightweight cotton fabric, considering that all the other layers you adorned added a bit more unnecessary weight to your small frame. Then comes the underskirt, adding another layer of volume and structure.

“If a man stares at you, avoid direct eye contact by using the fan your grandmother has gifted you.” She instructs, remembering the lessons your governess taught you. Her frail hands place the soft, silk evening bodice over your tightened corset. A beautiful little thing which accentuated your curves even more so, kissed with ribbons and flares below the piece.

The burning wood which crackled near the fireplace left a smell around the changing room which you longed for. You’ll be leaving in just a few more minutes, having to face the harsh winter storms outside. You wonder to yourself if the amount of beauty products delicately touched on your face was really worth it, considering that the weather outside will most likely dishevel it. And of course, you’ll be spending most of the day travelling by carriage.

Finally, the skirt. The main part of your outfit. Nanny brushes off the remaining particles on the skirt with her wrinkled hands. You couldn’t help but admire the beautiful little thing, pleated with satin which ended with small bows. She repeats the steps like for the other underskirts, stretching the band, allowing you to step in, and lifting it up to shape your figure.

Upon the stool you sat, you squirm uncomfortably because of the amount of layers you had to wear. She notices, and kisses her tongue.

“A woman should not squirm uncontrollably in their seat.” She hisses, lightly tapping your hands with a ruler as a way to discipline you. “Repeat what I have said.”

A sigh escapes your tinted lips. You hold out your hands.

“Marriage is the ultimate goal for women,” You repeat, “I must not stare back at a man and avoid direct eye contact.”

“Why must you not stare back at a man?” She asks.

You hesitate. The ruler comes down to your skin and places a stinging kiss. You hiss at the pain.

“B-because—” Another hit.

“No stuttering.”

You take a shaky breath, enduring the soft whimper which begs to escape from the bottom of your throat, “Because returning a man’s gaze could interpret as an invitation or a sign of interest.”

“What must you do if they stare?”

“Avoid eye contact by using my grandmothers’ fan.”

“Good.” She nods her head in approval. You place your hands neatly on your lap, looking down to avoid eye contact.

You’re ready to leave as soon as she ties the delicate satin bonnet on your head, ensuring that your face is covered with enough shade provided by the head piece. With the helping hands of the maids in daddy’s manor, all of your luggage was carried to the boot of the carriage. You bid your goodbyes to a few of your selected favourite maids, lightly kissing their cheeks before tittering away.

As soon as you walked outside, you knew that the cold winters of ‘92 would affect you much more than you’d expect. Suddenly, you appreciate the amount of layers you adorned. You could hardly feel the cold winds blowing even if you stuck your head outside the carriage’s openings.

The old man who drives the carriage around hops out of that tall seat in front to open the door and lend a hand for you to enter in. Upon entering in, you can see that there was a small lit candle; your only source of warmth.

You feel really glad for all of the layers.

You vaguely remember daddy boasting about all of the railroads built all over this part of America. ‘The Central Union Railroad’, a camp made up by working men who were in charge of building all railroads— daddy owned that camp. Some parts of you feel grateful for being raised in wealth and comfort, while the remaining parts felt guilty for seeing others having to slave away just to get ends meet.

You’re not convinced that all the men in that camp were capable of working. You’ve seen a good litter of youths labouring here and there. You pitied them greatly but alas: you were a woman. The most you could do was provide them more food rations and safety gear.

But as time slowly passed by, you’ve noticed the laws overseeing the amount of child labour happening in businesses. Daddy wasn’t too happy seeing a slight decline of workers in his company, nevertheless it did make your lips curl up a bit.

You’re not particularly interested in watching the railroads daddy invests and funded in, only because your thoughts immediately go back to the amount of workers that barely get payed to slave away in building these roads.

On the other hand, it was also how you’re able to sleep in a large manor everyday.

The roads slowly turned more bumpy and rough when leaving Lemoyne territory. You’re quite surprised that your carriage hasn’t been robbed considering the amount of warnings of raiders being littered across this part of territory. Your beady eyes boredly peer out of the windows of the carriage, watching the distant white-tipped evergreen trees pass by.

There wasn’t much to do other than watch nature unfold or perhaps pester the driver. You’d rather the former since you don’t even know the drivers name.

You can still feel the stings from that stupid ruler your nanny punished you with. They catch onto the fabric, which makes you twitch a bit at the abrupt pain. The more bumpier the road was, the more it caught on.

It’s been a few hours since you’ve left home. If you remembered correctly, you’d be arriving to a town somewhere in Chicago. You peak out to the driver up front, politely asking him what the time was. You left during the early hours of the morning, and you could see the sun rise much more.

His warm, honey-dew tipped voice replies back with a frail ‘9 in the morning’. Just a few more hours until they’ve reach to Chicago. Maybe even another day is to be filled with travelling.

You can’t help but sigh, “Could we take a break and rest somewhere in a few hours time?”

The old man hums, “We may, if that is what you wish.”

You smile sweetly. Of course, being told no was quite foreign to you. “Thank you kindly.”

You rest back onto the velvety cushions, heaving out another deep sigh. You look out of the openings again, and for the first time in a few months you lay eyes upon a long stretch of natural snowy land. It’s a vast difference between the usual scenery you’d see back in Lemoyne. There was no puffs of dark grey smoke in the sky, the heavy scent of engines and oil running wasn’t to be smelt, the bellowing of officers directing a crowd, no city life around.

Sometimes you’d see a few run-down stables with a few animals. Other times you’d just see landmarks with just the never-ending cold covering in it. On one occasion around noon, you saw a dead animal with its bones protruding out. Your nose scrunches up at the sight before looking away to the other opening of the carriage. Not much of a difference in scenery.

You tinker your lashes out of boredom, now playing with the satin-tipped bows on your bodice. The travel becomes much slower and difficult because of the amount of snow which catches onto the wheels of the carriage. It’s excruciatingly difficult to be entertained in these types of situations, considering that you left your novels back at home. You scoot back to the front seat of the carriage, peaking out to the man who lead the vehicle.

“May we please take a stop over there?” You ask with a shy smile, gesturing towards the small town from afar. You wonder if there’s any pastry stores nearby. The last time you ate was a few hours ago, a bowl of porridge and a few thin slices of bread. The man acknowledges your polite request with a gruff.

There’s been a bit of a food problem because of the cold winter, more snow meant less crops being able to grow and lesser animals being produced. You’ve been stuck on porridge and bread for a while now, and you’re hoping that it’ll change.

Once the driver stopped near the town, you’re greeted with the wind yet again. You unconsciously curl inward to protect yourself from the cold, peering at the people who lived in this little area. It’s humble, isolated, quiet.

Cold. Too cold.

You take a few steps, the bottoms of your shoes caked with snow. The man beside you takes ahold of your arm in case of any danger which falls upon you. He coughs a bit when the air hits his lungs. You pity him, asking if he needed a hot cup of tea or anything of the sorts to get him to warm up again.

His old eyes light up at the mention of tea.

“You mustn’t fret over me, my lady.” He whispers lowly.

“I insist.”

He takes a slow breath before sighing. “ If you must.”

Another pause to take a deep breath, “Your attitude is nothing like your father’s.”

You quirk a brow, “Pardon?”

He grabs onto your arm for support, mindlessly dawdling. “It’s a shame that you’ll be married off soon. When you see potential candidates during this trip, take a look at his attributes rather than his looks.”

What?

You tilt your head, “I thought this trip was a tour around the West.”

He grunts slightly, flinching a bit. “Perhaps I’ve spoken too much.”

Before you utter out another word of disbelief, you’re met with a click of a gun.

“Another step from either one of ye’,” A hoarse voice from behind grumbles like a predator, “One of yer head’s gon’ be rollin’.”

You’ve never been in situations like these before. Your nerves are getting to you. A soft sob escapes from your mouth as the tip of the gun threatens to puncture the back of your head. Your hands are immediately up in defence, beady eyes staring back at the frail man who could not do anything but mimic your actions.

You croak, “Please, sir. We don’t have anything valuable for you—”

Many more of them pop up. As if a litter of ants come and pour, the man behind scoffs before kicking your knees to buckle and kneel on the floor.

“Bullshit,” He snarls, “Look at what yer wearing. Pretty lil’ thing like ye’ ought to have somethin’ hidin’ under that skirt of yers.”

“What do we do with this one, boss?” One of them knocks the nozzle of his gun into the old man’s head. An old wail of pain escapes him, and your eyes water even more as you helplessly look around.

“Get rid of ‘em.”

“Wait, please! Don’t harm him! He hasn’t done anything wrong!” You sob, trying to reach out for him— only to be held back by these bandits, “No- stop, stop!”

The man who holds you back cackles, mocking your high-pitched pleas and sobs. The old man is knocked out with another blow to the head with the end of the bandit’s gun. You could see the back of his head starting to bleed.

“I’m telling you, a pretty girl like ‘er would sell real well in the markets.”

“How much do you think we could make?”

Another tug on your bodice gets you to raggedly gasp. Before your eyes peer to the Heavens above and beg for mercy, bullets from afar ring past and alert the others. You can hear gallops of multiple horses coming your way, and a heap of other outlaws.

“Shit, ‘s the Van Der Linde Gang!” The leader of the group- who currently holds you captive in his arms, yells at his group to gun them down. A bullet zooms past and catches onto his shoulder which allows you wiggle away and squirm to hide.

With the remaining strength you had, you drag the driver’s unconscious body with you and behind a barrel. He’s cold, everything is cold, you’re cold.

He’s dead.

The impact of the gun’s end must of cracked his skull. Tears pour down your beauty-tinted face, mustering up quiet prayers for him. Bullets are the only thing you can hear, accompanied with loud bellows and curses.

You have never in your life witnessed anything like this before.

You peak from the barrel, watching the man who gunned your driver down drops dead to the floor from one bullet which hits his head. Another array of shots are fired, and soon enough the litter of bandits are all gone.

Your ears perk when you hear them converse lowly, “Who the hell were those guys?”

“I don’t know, son. John, you ‘n Bill find supplies ‘round this town. Rob, steal, or be law abiding citizens— I don’t care. Just get as much as you can.”

You stifle a soft sob at the rowdiness. The man who was recently talking hears your soft whimper, before wondering over to you and crouching down.

“Arthur,” He seems to be calling for one of his men. He looks like he was born from wealth like you were. His clothes are tinted with jewellery and his vest looked like red velvet fur, “Come over here ‘n escort this girl!”

He lends you a hand. He sees the hesitation in those eyes of yours which lead him to a more softer approach.

When his eyes focus onto your face, he squints. He sizes you up and down quickly, the clothing you adorned clearly catching his attention. “Oh, you poor thing.”

Your small hands are held firmly by his as he hoists you up. Burdened with trauma and shock, you could only hear him murmur soft words of encouragement. You see a younger man strolling towards him, only for him to blink in surprise when seeing you.

There was something about him which sparked your interest greatly.

He scratches at his light stubble, barely visible yet. His breath seemed to hitch at the first sight of you.

“Can she talk?”

The other man who holds you closely scoffs, “‘Course she can. She’s just shocked.”

“Huh. Okay. What do we do with her?”

The man looks at you, “Hm. What’s your name, miss?”

You sniffle a bit, shakily replying with a meek babble of your name.

“Lovely to meet you, my dear. Dutch. Dutch Van Der Linde.” He squeezes your shoulder a bit, “Where were you last heading to before.. all of this?”

“Ch— Chicago,” You stutter, either from the cold or from the scene which unfolded beneath your very eyes.

“Damn.. That’s a long way away.” The man who eyed you with interest mumbles, not taking his kind eyes away from you.

You stare back of course.

Some sort of spark in you flared up.

He could feel it too.

“We ought to take her back to camp. She doesn’t seem like she’s in good condition.” Dutch makes you step forward out to Arthur, who grabs you and hoists you in his arms and to his horse, a soft grumble of annoyance escaping his lips, before murmuring a low ‘up you go, girl.’

“When she’s settled enough, we’ll ride ‘er to Chicago. We’re headin’ north aren’t we?”

“Indeed we are.”

“Not much of a problem, then.”

You needily paw at him before he could settle you on the large saddle of his horse, “W-wait but my luggages..”

He quirks a brow at you, “What about it?”

You meekly look around, stammering. “I need it. ‘s— ‘s important, I just—”

He cuts you off, “Where is it?”

You gesture to the carriage from afar. You watch his built figure stroll down thataway to retrieve them. You’re still surprised that the bandits from earlier didn’t manage to spot it. But nevertheless, you profusely thanked him before he left to go grab it from the boot.

You watch Dutch’s other men grab your old driver’s body and sling it on the back of their horse, probably to bury it somewhere. You deeply thank them in your mind, only for a chuckle to interrupt your thoughts.

“The boy’s smitten, Hosea! Look at ‘im,” The man who found you nudged an older looking man’s shoulder, pointing to his bulky figure which held onto your absurdly large luggages, “Never did that with any of the other men we saved. Didn’t even protest when I said that we’re bringing her back to camp.”

Dutch titters to you with that beautiful stallion of his. You couldn’t help but envy at how gorgeous that mane was. You remember back home your horses were used for training and educating rather than for show. “You’ll be staying with us for a while until we can get you on your feet again.”

You slowly nod, sniffling a bit. You rub your arms for comfort, hoping that they won’t do anything funny to you, “Th—thank you..”

Hosea— if you recalled, only looked at you with eyes as warm as the fireplace back home. He pitied you too, but in a sense that wasn’t belittling like how Dutch pitied you.

Arthur grunts as he heaves the luggages on the back of his horse, securing it with some rope to not make it fall. He mounts from the left and settles behind you, before kicking his spurs gently which makes his horse start walking in a slow pace.

A comforting hand is placed on your shoulder. He leans in a bit and murmurs, “You’re safe with us.”